


The Journey

by Alexander_Watson



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Romance, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Watson/pseuds/Alexander_Watson
Summary: Bilbo Baggins travels through the mountains with the company of Thorin Oakenshield after leaving Rivendell. The journey itself has been going well, but through his adventures, what happens when he starts falling for Thorin himself? Light smut and lots of fluff be warned!
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Kudos: 34





	1. The Misty Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> Mae govannen, mellon nin! 
> 
> Just a quick note—I wrote this initially as inserts in the book, picking out page and lines in between which to insert my stories. As this evolved, it became a little more complicated to do so, and so I modified it a little to fit in between the major events of the movies. 
> 
> I wrote around the major events of the book/movies, adding in parts here and there, so I recommend having a copy of the book nearby or YouTube open to kinda fill in the gaps. I tried to soften jumping from place to place, but it's still a little jarring! 
> 
> Thank you for reading—enjoy, and please comment and vote to tell me what you think! 
> 
> May the wind take you to where the sun sails and the moon walks—
> 
> ~AW

Cold wind whipped around the company, the towering mountains rising threateningly on one side on the path, dark chasms stretching away on the other. Though the winter was still months away, it was always cold here, the swift breeze jerking at the hems of their cloaks and pinching at their exposed noses and cheeks, turning them pink as they buried them farther inside their coats, shoving their hands deep inside their pockets. Bilbo, for one, wished that they had spent more time in Rivendell, and found himself longing more and more for the Last Homely House, its warm hearths, and bright halls.

The days seemed to be never ending as they walked deeper and deeper into the mountains, legs burning and ankles aching from walking up and up on the unforgiving stone, scrambling over rocks and edging across narrow paths. Everyone had to be alert at all times—one misstep could lead to terrible injuries.

Three days into the mountains, they hit a point in the path blocked by a large boulder. With Fili and Kili scouting out the other side, they had to climb the rocks and pick their way carefully down to the spot where the path continued. Clambering over was no small task, laden down with weapons, food and bags; more than once did one have to catch another before they fell.

Gritting his teeth, Bilbo waited for his turn to go, carefully watching where Ori set his feet, and then as he disappeared over the top.

"Off you go, then," Balin said encouragingly from behind him. Adjusting his pack on his shoulders, Bilbo swung himself up, carefully fitting his feet into the niches in the rock and pulling himself, hand over hand, higher. His confidence grew as he climbed without incident, finding handholds and footholds easily, and with relief, he noticed that the top was just a few feet away; but as he reached for the next handhold, his foot slipped.

He gasped, his stomach plummeting, a cry stuck in his throat as he felt himself falling. Flinging an arm out, he tried to catch the rock, but his fingers missed the hold and he started to tumble back down, his voice catching as he tried to call for help—

But a strong hand suddenly caught him, leaving Bilbo dangling against the rock, for Thorin had grabbed his wrist.

Thorin smiled at him. "I have you, don't worry," he said as Bilbo, shaking and rather pale, scrambled up the rest of the way to the top.

"Thank you," he said, trying to shake the tremble out of his voice, still breathing rather hard.

Thorin nodded. "Are you all right?"

"Ye—yes, I think so," Bilbo replied, adjusting his sword around his waist and running a hand through his hair.

"Good," Thorin nodded again, then released his wrist and turned back to the others climbing the boulder.

Eventually, everyone was standing safely on the path, ready to move forwards, but the sky soon turned dark and the weather cold. It was not long before the rain poured down in gray sheets, lightning illuminating their faces in eerie flashes. Soon, they were all soaked through the bone.

Wet and cold as they were, once they sat down tiredly and in a dry place, their spirits lifted, for they were out of the rain and wind. They pulled their food out of their packs and were soon sprawled on the rocky floor of the cave, shoulder to shoulder, the small space turning warmer with their body heat. Bilbo laughed at a joke Dori told and ripped off a piece of his bread, sitting cross legged against a rock, smiling for the first time all day.

Thorin watched the company. They were all doing remarkably well, so far, with the strain of the journey and the load they had to carry, both physically and mentally. Even the hobbit was doing better than expected—he looked at home amongst the dwarves, comfortable and at ease, laughing, his mouth curved upwards in a smile, then down as he leaned to mock-scold someone across the circle, breaking into a smile again, his slender fingers reaching for another bite of bread. He shifted as he sat back down, the line of his arm leading smoothly into his shoulder, down his waist and to his shapely legs, his fingers lifting the bread to his mouth, those full lips closing around it, his tongue peeking out as he licked the crumbs from his fingers....

"Thorin...Thorin?"

"Hm?" Thorin said, tearing his eyes away from Bilbo and looking towards the voice that spoke to him.

"Did you hear us?"

"Ah—no," Thorin said roughly, turning to Fili and Kili, both turned to look at him concernedly. "What was that?" But though he was able to focus on the conversation and put the hobbit from his mind, when he lay down to sleep pictures danced in front of his closed eyes—his smile, his laugh, the furrow in his brows when he was concentrating, the determination in his face when he walked, those clear eyes, those lips—but what was he thinking? The hobbit was only a burden. Who knew how much longer he would last. The wild was a cruel place; he might not even make it out of the mountains. But even as he turned over, his mind back on the journey ahead, there was a part of him wishing, hoping, that Bilbo would be all right. And Thorin would protect him to make sure of it.


	2. The Eagles

Bilbo hated flying.

He decided that as he sat, shivering, atop the rock eyries of the eagles, arms wrapped around himself to conserve heat, alone. It was almost pitch dark, now, the stars starting to shine out faintly. And where was the rest of the company? Probably eaten or frozen to death, if they hadn't fallen off the rocks first. He shivered and scooted further back from the edge, only to be buffeted by great gusts of wind as one of the eagles swooped down above him, talons bared. Bilbo sighed in dread.

"Couldn't we just walk?" he shouted as the bird swept down and plucked him off the rocks. He sighed again and gripped the eagle's leg as it carried him off to who knows where. Probably to eat him.

But it was only a moment later when he felt himself being lowered down back onto solid ground, and the eagle's talons opened, causing him to tumble gently onto the rock. For a moment he just lay there, relieved to feel solid ground beneath himself again, before a friendly shout caused him to sit up abruptly.

"There's our burglar!"

Looking around, Bilbo spotted the other dwarves, ringed around a small fire sputtering in the strong wind. He scrambled to his feet and hurried over, glad for the familiar faces.

"We were wondering where you lit off to," Bofur laughed, elbowing Gandalf, "pun intended!" The other dwarves laughed, despite the cold air nipping at their noses and the noticeable lack of anything to eat. They were in a merry mood, Bilbo thought, shoving his hands in his pockets and grinning. He looked around the circle—everyone was here: Dori, Ori, Nori, Oin, Gloin, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Fili, Kili, Dwalin, Balin, and Thorin—why did his heart leap like that?

"Bilbo!" Gandalf said, moving aside and motioning towards the space in the circle beside him. Bilbo walked around to the seat, carefully keeping his eyes down, for he could feel Thorin's gaze upon him, a gentle smile on his face. Clearing his throat, Bilbo sat down next to Gandalf and arranged his coat on his knees, looking up and listening to the chatter of the other dwarves.

"I apologize for the time it took for you to join us," Gandalf said good-naturedly, leaning towards him. "The eagles have their own schedule. I couldn't talk them into bringing you any sooner."

"Oh, it was no trouble, I'm sure," Bilbo said quickly, looking up at the wizard. Thorin was still watching him...

"Hm, yes, well," he said, giving Bilbo another sideways glance. "I think we have had enough excitement for today, and now that everyone is here, we may as well get some rest."

"I completely agree," Bilbo said sincerely, and Gandalf turned towards the other dwarves, his firm voice cutting through the chatter.

"Now that we are all in one place at the same time with no immediate threat of danger, I think we should all get some sleep while the night is still upon us, or we shall talk the dark away like those trolls!"

"Hear, hear," Kili agreed sleepily, already wrapped in his blanket. With a rustle of movement, the others started to turn towards their packs, but before they could move too much, Thorin spoke.

"Before we...settle down for the night, I have something to say," Thorin said strongly, staring around the circle, then turning towards Bilbo. "I wanted to say that I have been...unfair towards you lately. I have made no secret of my disdain for you and your—abilities, and I thought that you would never keep up with us, or survive for long in this wilderness." He paused for breath, everyone in the circle quiet and attentive, the fire crackling lowly. "And I thought I was right. Earlier today, I thought I knew I was right. But I was wrong," he stated finally, "and you coming back today...that was admirable. I thank you for it, and I apologize for how I acted before."

Balin nodded in agreement. "Hear, hear." Murmurs of assent echoed around.

"Master Baggins has been quite the surprise," Dori said kindly.

"He stayed with us even when he could have turned back," Dwalin rumbled, "Honorable."

"And just wait until we get to the mountain!" Fili said excitedly, "All fifteen of us, to get at the gold and the dragon!"

"With Master Burglar Bilbo Baggins leading the company," Ori added.

Gandalf chuckled good-naturedly. "I dare say you would have thought yourself this far along, Bilbo," he said, leaning down, his eyes sparkling. Bilbo grinned, fiddling with the edge of his coat, nervous from the praise.

"I can say for sure that I had never thought myself in any situation near to this," he replied with a smile, then turned back to the circle. "And you all applaud me, but it was a simple decision, really. I had signed a contract and come this far. I can't return to my home just yet, and I know how important having a place like that can be." He paused, then continued, tilting his head. "And you all have none, so I am going to help you get yours back. Your home, that is," he finished rather awkwardly, "and I am with you as long as it takes."

This elicited a round of applause from the dwarves, even Thorin placing his hands together, a smile touching his face. Bilbo grinned and ducked his head. Gandalf smiled proudly; he always knew that the hobbit had it in him.

"Well, we're off to bed," Fili sighed, looking fondly at Kili, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. "It's been a long day."

"That it has," Balin consented, rising. "Good night, lads, Bilbo, Thorin," he said, bowing to each of them, then turning towards his pack. The others did the same, yawning and stretching, the rustle of fabric and low voices comforting in the dark night.

"If you don't mind, I think I'm going to stay up for a moment longer," Bilbo said softly, the fire sputtering lower.

"Of course," Gandalf said kindly, setting his hat aside. "Good night, dear Bilbo."

"Good night, Gandalf," Bilbo replied, smiling, then pointedly turned away from the circle, still avoiding looking at Thorin. Sighing, he stepped a few feet away to the edge of the rock, crossing his legs under himself and pulling his coat over his knees. He just needed a little time to himself, and with the comforting presence and sounds of the dwarves at his back, as well as Gandalf, he could think without worrying.

Sighing again, he folded his hands in his lap and looked out across the forest that stretched out before him, dimly illuminated by the light of the thousands of stars overhead. He gazed upwards, picking out the familiar Plough constellation, his mind wandering back to the Shire, where the harvest would be in, the fields glowing golden, bushels of rosy apples sold in the bustling market, cold air and crisp leaves on walks, the first glittering frosts of winter. He thought of all those content hobbits slumbering warmly in their beds, and longingly of his own empty one at home, his quilts piled on top, the comforting weight pressing on top of him, the warmth of a fire filling the room...

A gust of cold wind startled him back to reality, the stone hard and cold beneath him. How much he would have given to have just one of those quilts now. He sat quietly, tucking his hands under his chin and listening the the rustling as the others snuggled into their blankets. Gradually, the fire died, blown out by the breeze, and the shuffling of fabric stopped, breathing slowing and light snores beginning. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed close by him, and he glanced aside to see Thorin stepping up beside him. Immediately, his heart rate quickened and he folded his hands carefully in his lap again as Thorin sat down beside him. Oh, goodness, their legs were almost touching....

"Beautiful tonight," Thorin said roughly, looking out across the darkness.

"Oh, mm, yes, very beautiful," Bilbo stammered, caught off guard. He looked away.

"I meant what I said, there, in front of the others," Thorin said, his low voice seeming small in the dark.

"I know," Bilbo replied.

"I didn't want you to think that I apologized just to save face in front of them," Thorin clarified, glancing down. "I do my best to be honest."

"And you've lived up to that," Bilbo said, looking over at him, "Even when you voiced your opinions of me you were honest. You spoke what you thought and what you believed, and I find that admirable." Thorin smiled, but Bilbo continued. "They all will follow you anywhere, you know," he said seriously, "into fire, into water, into the mountains, and into Mirkwood. We're behind you the whole way."

"We?" Thorin asked, looking curiously at him.

"We," he repeated, staring clearly back. For a moment he seemed to lose himself in Thorin's dark eyes, starlight reflected back, clear and deep. To his surprise, Thorin sighed heavily and pressed his face into his hands.

"Sometimes I just—this has been so hard for me," Thorin said finally, "I doubt myself every day, and I try to hold true to our goal, but..." he trailed off. "The road is difficult, indeed."

"It is, but you shouldn't doubt yourself. You are strong, Thorin, and honest, and brave, and you know what is right." Bilbo looked at him again. "You will make a wonderful king."

"Thank you, Bilbo," Thorin said sincerely. "I need all the encouragement I can get." He was silent. "And your opinion of me matters more than you could know."

Bilbo's heart thumped in his chest. More than he could know...

"I think I know how much," he answered quietly, "as much as your opinion of me matters to myself." He heard Thorin draw a quick breath. They sat, silent, dwelling on the other's words, breath, and figure in the faint starlight, minds quieting slowly.

Bilbo continued to gaze through the night, setting his hands beside him. It was not until he glanced down that he realized how close their hands were—mere inches apart. He steadied his breathing, deciding not to move his hand, for then Thorin would definitely know something was going on, but as he looked up, he found Thorin staring at him. Bilbo felt his cheeks burn crimson and they both turned quickly away.

It was silent, the cold wind breezing gently by, the movement of the dwarves stilled by the deepness of sleep, the stars shining down soundlessly. Bilbo willed his breathing to slow, but his heart still pounded in his chest. That was close—they were so close—

Before another thought crossed his mind, something touched Bilbo's hand, sending shocks zipping through his arm, and he looked back at Thorin, who still stared straight ahead. But glancing down, Bilbo saw Thorin's pinkie linked around his own, the soft press of his finger gentle in his own. His breath caught in his chest and he stared out again. This was nice, having Thorin there, the simple touch washing his fears away, his pounding heart slowing.

It was so quiet.

Bilbo realized that Thorin was holding his breath. He was probably scared of Bilbo pulling away, rebuking him, leaving him alone in the night. That would not happen. Carefully, Bilbo slid his hand over Thorin's, their fingers intertwining slowly, fitting together smoothly, Thorin's warmth welcome to Bilbo's cold fingers. Scared to do much more, they slowly relaxed, dangling their legs over the rock, staring out across the darkened world, the breeze ruffling their hair, hands intertwined.

And in the dark, Gandalf watched them, his gaze lingering on them, his eyes crinkling in a smile as he noticed their held hands. Smiling to himself, he turned over to give them privacy, closing his eyes.

It was a long time before either of them moved. The heavens rotated around them, slumber slowly pressing down on their eyelids, stars bright above. Bilbo sighed contentedly.

"Tired?" Thorin asked quietly, and Bilbo nodded, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Yes, terribly," he answered, then swung his legs around, groaning as he stood, his joints creaking from sitting so long. Thorin rose with him, their hands still locked. Bilbo pulled his away, then looked up at Thorin, his eyes meeting Thorin's dark ones. "Good night," he said softly.

Thorin smiled. "Good night." Bilbo smiled back, feeling the color creep into his cheeks again, and turned away to find his bedroll. Remembering he had lost it, he suddenly turned, embarrassed, back to Thorin.

"Thorin—I, uh, seem to have lost my things, do you have, a uh, spare that I could borrow?"

Thorin smiled again, rather awkwardly. "I have your things, and I took the liberty of laying out your bedroll." He motioned sheepishly to the two empty blankets next to each other. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all!" Bilbo assured him, and immediately fell into his own with a sigh. Thorin slid into his, and its was not long before they were both fast asleep, despite the frost, despite the lack of dinner, despite the cold wind that blew over them, despite the heaviness of the quest hanging over them, blankets wrapped tightly around themselves, backs pressed together, minds lingering on the touch of the other's fingers.


	3. Beorn’s House

Finally, at last, they reached the house of Beorn, after more long, tense hours of creeping through the woods, cautiously checking behind them every few seconds for fear of being followed, everyone quiet except for the occasional nervous whisper. Though it was difficult at first to become accustomed to and relax in their new surroundings (especially with the unpredictable Beorn presiding as their host), but inevitably, the relief from the stress of the trip showed through and their first full day of rest was a happy one. Beorn and Gandalf were no where to be found, so the dwarves made themselves at home, taking care, of course, not to disturb anything that might upset their great host in the slightest. 

Bilbo woke at dawn, as was his habit now, the sky still a dark blue, the house around him quiet, and abut he soon fell back asleep despite the bumps and sounds in the night. The next time he awoke, the sunlight was streaming through the windows, sunbeams filtering down through the warm morning air. It felt so good to sleep in—and many of the dwarves felt the same way. Bilbo’s mattress was not the only empty one, and the quiet sounds of birds and voices and snores echoed peacefully around the wide hall. 

It was such a relief to wake here, not having to worry about cold or rain or goblins or Wargs or having no breakfast. Bilbo closed his eyes again and laid back in bed, enjoying the softness of the small mattress, the gentle feel of the sunlight on his face and the quiet sounds of the morning. 

His stomach growled, however, and he finally pulled himself out of bed, carefully folding his blanket on top of his bed and stretching and yawning greatly, carefully stepping around the occupied mattresses and walking rather sleepily to the long table at one end of the hall. The rough table was still filled with flat plates of honey cakes that had made up much of dinner last night, as well as a few large jugs of mead. Dori was the only one sitting at the table, comfortably smiling a pipe, smiling as he spotted Bilbo. 

“Good morning, Master Baggins,” he said cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, actually, very well,” Bilbo answered, peering across the spread on the table. “And you?” 

“Much better than the past few nights, I can tell you that,” Dori said wryly, blowing a perfect smoke ring that the both of them admired as it floated up to the ceiling. 

“Good one,” Bilbo commented. 

“Thank you,” Dori replied, then motioned towards the wide doors. “The weather was such a nice change from the past few days, so they are all outside, if you would like to join them.” 

“I think I will,” Bilbo said thoughtfully, grabbing a few pieces of the honey bread off the table and making his way towards the doors. “Thank you!” he called over his shoulder as he left, smiling. 

“You’re quite welcome!” Dori said after him, smiling to himself as he puffed on his pipe. The hobbit was fitting in very well, bless his heart. 

Bilbo padded outside, a warm breeze ruffling his hair as he peered about for the others. Fili and Kili were sparring back and forth under the spreading branches of the surrounding trees, while Bofur, Gloin, and Oin sat in the golden grass a ways away, smoking and chatting good-naturedly. Thorin and Balin sat easily against another tree, watching Fili and Kili. 

Bilbo chose a tree removed from the groups, giving him a good view of the others, the sunlight shining through the gold and orange leaves, the grass waving around his ankles as he crossed from the house. He grinned and waved in answer to the shouts of greeting echoed his way, then sat down with a sigh under the tree, leaning up against the rough bark and closing his eyes, feeling the warm air play across his face and the sunlight dappling the ground around him. 

Turning matter-of-factly to his breakfast, it did not take long for him to polish off the honey bread, and he was soon licking the stickiness from his fingers and brushing the crumbs from his clothes. He nestled back against the tree with a contented sigh, his stomach full, watching Fili and Kili dart back and forth, swords flashing. It was so nice not to have to run anywhere—they had not had the chance to sit and relax since Rivendell. Goodness—how long ago that seemed! The light and peace of the elves could not be more than a few weeks behind them, and yet it felt like months. Through the mountains, through the dark tunnels—Bilbo shuddered at the memory of those, and the goblins, and Gollum and those riddles by the pool. Absentmindedly, his hand crept to his pocket where he had placed the ring, but he soon drew it out again as he adjusted his position against the tree. Then there were the eagles, thank goodness for them, and the one night holding hands with Thorin...Bilbo smiled to himself. That was nice. Very nice. They had slept next to each other the few nights coming here, and he found Thorin’s presence comforting, being able to sleep more soundly when he was pressed back to back with the dwarf lord. Honestly, he was surprised at the amount of rest he had gotten last night without Thorin at his back. 

He smiled again, the waving grass brushing against his legs, reminding him of the soft touch of Thorin’s fingers. Shaking himself, he looked around, admiring the fall flowers that peeked through the green stems, the long stems bowing in the soft breeze. Bilbo picked out the familiar yarrow blossoms, coreopsis, cornflowers, and anemone waving among the green. A good mood washing over him, he suddenly remembered a small gesture he had done often at home. Smiling with memories, he tilted his head and decided to do it here, and picked some of the yarrow and cornflowers, making sure to leave them stems long. Humming to himself, he twisted the stems together, fumbling at first, then weaving them tightly into a wreath. He remembered sitting on the front steps of Bag End as a child, weaving flowers together to hand on the front door or on the mantle, picking the best blooms to hang on his door as an adult, sitting on the bench outside. 

Carefully bending the stems into a circle and weaving the ends together, he sat back against the tree and turned the wreath around to check his work. It was nice—not quite as nice as the ones he had made at home, but good enough. He tucked the ends of one stem in, and tightened another, staring at it critically. Deciding it needed more color, he chose some coreopsis and slid the shorter stems among the longer ones, the yellow setting off the blue and white quite nicely. Yes, it was nice, he thought happily to himself, turning it over in his hands. 

“Master Baggins!” a voice called, and Bilbo looked over to see Thorin and Balin staring over at him. Clambering to his feet, he quickly hid his wreath behind his back as he walked over to them. 

“We saw you sitting off by yourself,” Balin said, smiling, “we thought you might want to come join us.” 

“Oh, well,” Bilbo said, thinking to himself how he had wanted to be by himself on purpose. His gaze flicked involuntarily over Thorin, who was lounging against the tree, his legs stretched out in front of him. Bilbo turned slightly pink and looked away to Fili and Kili. 

“What do you have there?” Thorin asked suddenly, glancing behind his back. 

“Oh—this—“ Bilbo blushed harder and pulled his wreath out, careful not to crush any of the blossoms. “It’s something I made, just now…” 

“May I?” Thorin asked holding a hand out for the wreath. 

“Hm? Oh, not at all,” Bilbo answered quickly, placing the wreath in his hand, then tucking his hands behind his back and turning away, not wanting to see Thorin’s reaction to his handiwork. 

“It’s quite good,” came Thorin’s voice from behind his back. 

“Really?” Bilbo asked excitedly, turning back around to find Thorin turning the wreath over in his hands. 

“I’ve made a couple in my lifetime,” Thorin admitted, “but that was a long time ago.” 

“Well, this is something I know nothing about,” Balin chuckled, “I myself have no experience with anything having to do with gardening.” He peered over at Thorin. “When did you make these? Surely you had no time for these at Erebor!” 

Thorin laughed. “Indeed, I did not. No, I sat and wove a couple for my sister during our wanderings. I haven’t made one since. Although…” He leaned forwards, reaching for some red anemone blossoms. Carefully sitting back, he tucked them in along the yellow, blue and white, the red peeking through prettily. Bilbo blushed harder. 

“There,” Thorin said, admiring it, “almost finished.” He glanced up at Bilbo, who was still standing nervously at his shoulder, then motioned for him to sit down. Bilbo obeyed, then scooted closer at Thorin’s gesture, their shoulders brushing as Thorin turned towards him. Slowly, Thorin reached out and placed the wreath atop his head, Bilbo blushing red and trying to calm his pounding heart. 

“Now it is perfect,” Thorin said quietly, smiling at him, careful not to let his touch linger as he pulled his hands away, brows slightly furrowed as he made sure the crown was straight and center. Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat as Thorin smiled at him, admiring how well it looked upon him. Thorin’s gaze flicked to rest on his lips, but a chuckle from Balin broke them apart and they both turned quickly away. 

“I daresay, Thorin, you have seen nothing more beautiful,” Balin said kindly, twinkling over at Bilbo. 

Thorin just cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, looking away to Fili and Kili. He didn’t like being read so easily, but then again, you were rather an open book there, he scolded himself. He needed to put these things aside for right now, to focus on the quest at hand; but his gaze inexplicably floated back to Bilbo, and he watched him from the corner of his eye. 

The hobbit was pointedly turned away, staring off into the forest, but the sunlight played across his shoulders and profile, just a hint of those lovely brown eyes visible from where Thorin sat. The flowers nestled in among his curls like they were meant to be there, the blue and red shining out against the brown of his hair. This light was flattering, too; soft shadows shaded his face and neck, the folds of his coat darkening as they fell gently around his knees. Thorin’s gaze trailed back up to his face, and he scolded himself again for being so forthright. Maybe if they were alone, yes, but not now, in front of everyone. It would most likely distract them. 

Bilbo forcibly kept his mind off of Thorin, despite the tall figure sitting at his elbow. He made himself admire the shapes of the trees and bowing of the grass, the sturdy wood fence that encircled the house and the clearing, the footprints in the dirt road leading to the open door. He enjoyed the slight weight of the crown upon his head, folding his hands quietly in his lap as he felt the wind finger the flowers, a couple of curls brushing against his forehead as another breeze passed through. Confident that he had gotten himself back under control, Bilbo looked out towards Fili and Kili just in time to see Fili flip Kili’s sword out of his grasp. 

“That was nice,” he said admiringly, then chuckled as Kili tackled his brother with a yell. 

“Get to your sword,” Thorin shouted across to them. 

“Should you be encouraging them?” Bilbo asked rather worriedly as Kili dove across the ground for his blade. 

“They’re fine,” Thorin said reassuringly, leaning his head back against the tree and watching the two tussle through half closed eyes, a smile touching his face. 

“Oh.” Bilbo turned away. 

“They may get rather rough, but they have good hearts,” Balin chuckled. “Thorin made sure of that.” 

“We all know it was the talents of many that helped,” Thorin said, glancing down. “I had little to do with it.” 

“We both know that’s not true,” Balin sighed. “You were, and I am sure are, like father to them.” 

“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking,” Bilbo interjected. 

“No, it’s no trouble. Fili and Kili‘s father died in battle when they were very young,” Thorin said, “My sister did not marry again, and so she and I were left with two young boys. We worked our hardest, and many others helped us raise them. They make me proud every day,” Thorin finished. 

“They have a great role model,” Bilbo said simply, smiling. 

Thorin, to his surprise, laughed and shook his head. “You have no idea how hard it was for me. I was used to being a leader, that was no trouble, but they taught me more than that. I did my best, and if it wasn’t for you, Balin, and many others, well…” He sighed, his eyes full of sadness. “You have no idea how much I regret.” 

Something deeper sounded in his voice, and Bilbo felt pity swell in his chest. Should he do something to comfort him? Maybe hold his hand, no, or put a hand on his shoulder? 

Uncertainly, Bilbo touched his arm, his fingers softly pressing against the dark fabric of Thorin’s shirt. “You’re not talking about just them,” he said quietly. 

Thorin smiled and glanced down at his hand. “It will all be fine once we get to Erebor,” he sighed. 

“Erebor,” Bilbo mused, withdrawing his hand and tilting his head in thought. Thorin wished he would put his hand back, then slide it down his arm and wind his fingers through his own, pressing up against his side and leaning his head on his shoulder….realizing that he was losing control of himself again, Thorin turned quickly to Balin. 

“When do you think we will be ready to leave?” he asked, focusing on, he told himself, more important things. 

“Within two or three days, I should think,” Balin answered, looking over at him. He would have to be blind to not notice the spark between the two—but it seemed as if they thought that they were doing a good job hiding their feelings, so Balin decided not to intervene. He would do his own part, and they would come together on their own time. And quite soon, too, perhaps… 

The morning passed quickly, sun and wind warm and relaxing, Bilbo dozing against the tree, the breeze gently tossing his hair, the flowers still sitting atop his curls, the soft chatter of dwarven voices blending with the sounds of the forest. Eventually, he decided that he would go inside and eat a second full meal for the first time in many long days, and fetch his pipe. He hoped he had not fallen out of practice of blowing smoke rings. 

Sighing slightly, he stood, stretching, aware of Thorin’s eyes upon him. 

“I’m going to head inside,” he said absentmindedly. 

“Go ahead,” Balin said encouragingly, “We’ve all been outside quite a bit lately.” 

Bilbo chuckled, and nodded to the both of them, careful to keep his bow to Thorin short and respectful. “See you later,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking in a smile. He turned towards the house, trotting down the dirt road to the large door. Smiling to himself, he carefully removed the flower crown from his head and, on passing the door, paused for a moment, then quickly grabbed a stool to stand on and after clambering up, gently hung the small wreath on Beorn’s door. There. That was some payment for their host’s kindness, the wreath adding a bit of color to the large wooden expanse. Smiling again and blushing at the memory of Thorin’s touch as he placed it on his head, he crossed the hall to retrieve his pipe from his pack, the sunlight filtering in long, lazy beams across the rough wooden floor, the hobbit humming to himself as he walked, a skip or two making their way into his step at the memory of a pair of dark eyes. 

  
The wooden walls of Beorn's house rose around him, arching like the curving boughs of trees overhead, the beams seeming to be hewn from the forest only days ago, the scent of cedar and pine filling the hall, the fresh breeze from the open windows and large doors carrying in the sweet smells of the forest. The sun had set, casting a dusty darkness over them, and with the dark, despite the comforting smells of wood and hay, came the unfamiliar bumps and swishes and hoots that usually accompany a new place to sleep. A particularly loud thump echoed near the wooden walls, making Bilbo jump. He slid farther into the rough blanket and straw mattress that he had chosen out of the ones Beorn had brought for them, in the midst of the other dwarves. Another thump caused him to jump.

He shivered in fear, wishing for Thorin's arm around his shoulders, shielding from nightmares. He buried his face in his small pillow, listening to the snores of the dwarves as they lay around him, imagining Thorin's comforting warmth surrounding him. His breathing slowly steadied and his fingers relaxed against the blankets, but sleep would not come to him. He turned over, staring at the wooden roof stretching above, strange without the familiar sparkling of stars. They still had so far to go...with the dread of Mirkwood ahead, as well. Bilbo shivered again, but a loud sound outside made him jump.

Toss and turn as he might, he could not fall back asleep, though he wrapped his blankets about himself and held his pillow over his head. Finally, with a sigh, he rose from his bed, pulling on his coat and leaving the blankets behind him. Stepping quietly around the sleeping dwarves as only a hobbit can do, Bilbo carefully walked down the hall and slipped out the door. He did not know where to go, but wandered into Beorn's large stable, something perhaps not-so-smart for a small hobbit to do. But in he went, hardly having to duck under the large horses' bellies, whispering softly to alert them to his presence, and they in turn whickered gently to him and stood quietly.

"Who goes there?" came a familiar voice.

"Only me, Thorin," Bilbo said quietly, softly stepping up behind him where he was leaning on the edge of a stall, illuminated nobly by the low golden glow of a torch left lit.

"Couldn't sleep, either, I assume," Thorin said with a touch of a smile.

"No, no," Bilbo replied absentmindedly, "It was a little too cold for me."

"Durin's Day will soon be upon us," Thorin sighed, his profile thrown into sharp relief by the firelight. "The nights grow colder with every passing day. I do not know if we will arrive at the mountain in time."

"We can, Thorin," Bilbo said sincerely, looking up at him, "You are leading us. How could we not? Of course, we have made it this far," he stammered slightly as Thorin turned his dark eyes upon him, his heart fluttering and color flooding his cheeks.

"I do not know how we would have made it without you," Thorin returned, "You have remained one of the most faithful to this company from the beginning. Don't ever change that." Slowly, Thorin's hands crept up Bilbo's arms, his dark eyes searching Bilbo's brown ones, stepping in closer, the fur lining his coat pressing against Bilbo's waistcoat, making the hobbit's pulse quicken.

"Th-Thorin," Bilbo said softly, preoccupied with the space between them, or rather, the lack of it.

"Yes?" Thorin breathed, his gaze slipping to rest upon the hobbit's lips.

"The reason I couldn't sleep was because you were not with me," Bilbo said, glancing down quickly, his eyes flicking up to Thorin's mouth. It quirked in a smile, and then it was upon Bilbo's, kissing him so that he hardly knew how to react, stiffening in surprise—but then he melted in Thorin's arms, pressing gently back, his hands upon the dwarf king's chest, lacing through the fur on his coat, pulling him closer, warmth blooming in his chest, ecstasy flooding his thoughts. Thorin's arms encircled him tightly, wrapping him in warmth that crept down to the tips of his toes so that he rose up on them, Thorin's mouth curving around his own.

The scent of the other surrounded them; the musty-sweet odor of woodsmoke and the sharp scent of an autumn afternoon lingering in Bilbo's nose, the sweet smell of fresh hay and warm earth filling Thorin's as they wrapped around each other, lips moving of one accord, pressing firmly against the other's mouth, comforted by the touch of the other.

Suddenly they broke apart, Bilbo trembling in Thorin's embrace. He buried his face in Thorin's shoulder, holding on to him like a lifeline, gripping the front of his coat, and together they stood there for some time, each held by the other, the cold of the coming winter not quite reaching them, the gentle firelight flickering around them, the quiet breathing and movement of the horses shifting in their sleep adding a quiet rhythm to the outside world, for they knew no world but the other's, one that was held inside their arms.

Finally, Thorin moved slightly and Bilbo righted himself, each untangling himself from the other. Bilbo drew in a shuddering breath.

"We should get back to sleep," he said softly, shaking himself slightly, "We do not know what awaits us in the morning."

"I agree," said Thorin, pausing, then stepped forward and brushed Bilbo's hair behind his ear, letting his fingers trail across his cheek. "Good night, my burglar," he said, then watched as Bilbo blushed a deep scarlet and turned to leave, hurrying out of the stable, the dark soon overtaking him as he disappeared from Thorin's sight.

Bilbo leapt silently back into bed, immediately pulling the blankets up over his head, the cold once more surrounding him. For a moment he couldn't think at all, still enchanted with the kiss, the taste of Thorin still lingering in his mouth. Oh, that kiss...it frightened him, in a way, to be held captive this way by such a small gesture, to be held by those arms, his dark eyes shining into his own...oh, that kiss...but what would happen tomorrow? They had feelings for each other, Bilbo admitted, what would the next day bring? Oh, Thorin...that kiss... he shivered, wrapping himself even tighter, and stayed there, wondering, reliving those few moments, until he fell into a restless sleep. He did not hear Thorin's soft footsteps as the son of Durin made his way back to his bed an hour later.

The nextmorning dawned bright and sunny, golden sunlight shining gaily through the windows, dust particles sparkling in the light. Bilbo awoke with the rest of the dwarves, yawning and stretching, enjoying the warmth of the sun after the cold of the night—the night—last night! His eyes sprang open. The kiss! Blushing red, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, smiling privately to himself. Well, another day, another step in the journey. He rose and stretched, walking down to the long table at the end of the hall where several of the dwarves were already digging into a hearty breakfast. This was the day they would set out to Mirkwood—a large meal would serve them well.

"Good morning," Bilbo said cheerily, picking up a piece of Beorn's honey bread from the wide wooden plates.

"Good morning," Bombur said through a mouthful of bread. Bilbo chuckled.

"Make sure to leave some for the rest of us," he commented, smiling.

"They better get up quickly, or they really will miss out!" Bifur laughed. "The night was all right, for you?"

"Yes," Bilbo sighed, sliding onto one of the wooden benches and tearing off a piece of bread, "sleeping on something other than rocks for once is rather refreshing."

"I, for one, am glad for the break," Dori commented, wincing as he straightened in his seat, "one more night on the ground would have finished me!"

"And don't anyone say anything about how we're going back to sleeping on the ground again," Fili said sharply, his eyes glinting with mock anger, "I don't need to be reminded!"

"Thorin's already done that," Kili added quietly, grinning.

"And what have I done?" came Thorin's voice from behind Bilbo. The hobbit nearly fell off the bench, but Thorin stepped up behind him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"I did, thank you," Bilbo said, meeting his eyes and smiling, his heart hammering in his chest, determined to act normally.

Thorin smiled back, his eyes sparkling, and for a moment they gazed at each other, the sunlight surrounding them, and then Thorin gently squeezed his shoulder and moved down the table, his fingers trailing across Bilbo's back, sending shivers up and down the hobbit's spine.

It was very hard for him to finish eating through the smile on his face.


	4. Mirkwood

They stood in front of the towering trees, foreboding growing within them with every passing second. Gandalf had gone, and they were left alone, packs shouldered, waterskins full, gathering enough courage to step forwards onto the dark path.

"Well, we are losing daylight," Thorin said grimly, then turned to look at Bilbo, who stood beside him. "Will you...walk with me?"

"Of course," Bilbo said sincerely, relieved to be near him.

"We will need your sharp eyes at the front," Thorin said, turning back to the forest, and Bilbo's spirits fell. Was it for only practical reasons? "And I enjoy your company," Thorin added rather shyly. He glanced sideways at him, and Bilbo once again was filled with relief.

"Well, I enjoy yours. Very much, in fact," Bilbo replied mischievously, meeting his eyes. He looked back at the forest and blew out a long breath. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Thorin said grimly, the eerie feeling returning. "Everyone—let's move on! We want to make it as far as we can before nightfall." And with that, the company filed into the forest, taking last long, wishful looks at the sunny glade that they were leaving.

Immediately, the light faded, the branches closing in around the path like so many grasping hands, leaves dark, unfamiliar sounds echoing around them. Though the path was clear, it was narrow and winding, snaking through the trunks of the enormous trees, Bilbo stared around him in wonder and fear. There were no trees like these anywhere in or near the Shire—none this old and wild, yet spooky and strong, their untamed branches spreading like searching tendrils of smoke after the fire has been blown out. Unconsciously, he pressed closer to Thorin.

Their every sense was alive, every crunch of lead or snap of twig causing them to jump with alarm, quick flashes or angry screeches punctuating the darkness. Once, something brushed past Bilbo's elbow and he lurched forwards in shock, his heart leaping into his throat.

"Whoa," Thorin said concernedly, catching him before he fell, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Bilbo breathed, eyes wide, "something just went past me is all."

"Stay close," Thorin replied warily, stepping out in front again, and Bilbo did, pressing close to his side, and he found himself winding his fingers through Thorin's once again. That was much better—and he felt Thorin relax, too, their steps becoming stronger, shoulders falling back as they became more confident, shoulders still pressed close together, their presence and touch comforting the other. It would be a long walk, yes, but hand in hand, it would be a lot shorter than if they walked it alone.

Far into Mirkwood, they threw down their bedrolls, exhausted and ready for sleep. It was still very dark, but the light seemed to be fading more with every passing minute.

"Everyone get some rest," Thorin instructed, "we have a long walk tomorrow."

No one objected and almost nothing was spoken as they spread their blankets. Bilbo and Thorin spread theirs next to each other, as was their habit, now, but though Bilbo lay down immediately, Thorin sat awake on the edge of the blanket, listening to the breaths of the other dwarves become steady and mingled with snores.

Bilbo was so tired that he lay awake as well, wishing heartily he could just drop off, but Thorin still sat, awake and attentive.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered finally, "are you awake?"

"Yes," came Thorin's clear voice.

"You said yourself we have a long day tomorrow. Come get some rest."

Thorin didn't move, but the faint outline of his head shifted as he nodded. "I will, lo—" but he cut himself off and became quiet again.

Bilbo sighed and turned onto his back, listening to the quiet of the woods around him and the comforting sounds of the dwarves. It was long before either of them moved.

"Mahal help me," Thorin whispered suddenly, and then swiftly he was on top of Bilbo, straddling him, his hands on the ground hear his face. Bilbo was startled, drawing back, then had to clap a hand over his mouth as he felt Thorin pressing into him, his breath hot on his neck, Thorin's hair falling onto his shoulders.

Thorin rubbed his face against his cheek, breathing hard, legs tightening around him, fingers kneading the ground beside his head. Bilbo felt himself responding, beginning to arch into him, his eyes closing, his own breath quickening, filling suddenly with a surging love and desire—

But then a great fear overtook him, and he stiffened with terror as Thorin drew his lips over his neck. What was he thinking? What was he doing? He tried to speak, his eyes wide, but his voice caught in his throat.

"Thorin," it emerged at last as a squeak, "stop. Please stop."

"Mmm, why?" Thorin's voice came is a low hiss, his breath moving towards Bilbo's face, "why? No one can see us here."

"It's too soon," Bilbo stammered, his voice high with fright, "please. Please wait."

"But I don't want to wait," Thorin murmured, leaning closer, Bilbo pressing his away as hard as he could, "I love you and I want you."

Desire rose up in Bilbo again, but fear still gripped him and he gently shook his head. "It's too soon," he repeated, "I need some time to think. I—I don't yet know how I feel."

"At least let me be near you," Thorin pleaded, pressing close, "give me that, please."

"That is fine, Thorin, but—it's just too soon for anything more. Please, stop," Bilbo whispered, his eyes finding Thorin's in the dark.

The dwarf lord was silent, his breaths still ragged, his thighs still tight around Bilbo's waist, the faint shine of his eyes still fixed upon his face. Slowly, he relaxed, sliding off of him, pulling away from his face, taking a deep breath. "I am sorry, I don't know what came over me," he sighed fearfully, sitting back and passing a hand over his eyes, "Please forgive me."

"I am fine," Bilbo said timidly, still frightened and frozen with shock, "you are forgiven. Just—I am not ready."

"I understand," Thorin said respectfully. "Good night." He lay down upon his side of the blanket, his back to Bilbo, a respectful space in between them. It was some time before Bilbo's breathing returned to normal and he relaxed somewhat. What was that? Did he do the right thing? What was he feeling? Did he love Thorin, or was it just friendship? Would Thorin leave him be if he said no? And what would happen if he gave in?

Bilbo turned to face Thorin's broad back, still unable to relax completely. Everything would turn out all right—hopefully nothing would change tomorrow. What if he had pushed Thorin too far away from him? Surging pity swelled in his heart, and he gently reached out a hand and slid it across Thorin's back, nestling closer to him, wanting the solid presence and warmth. Thorin turned over, shifting around him, then softly placed an arm around his shoulders, Bilbo leaning his head on his chest, closing his eyes. They relaxed together, thoughts and worries still spinning in their minds, falling restlessly asleep.


	5. The Elvenking’s Palace

After his audience with Thranduil, Thorin was locked back in his cell, the few meals of bread and water the only breaks in the dark and monotonous hours. He had no idea how long he had been down there—days? Weeks? He paced, then sat down, then paced again, standing against the wall. Finally, he kicked the stone in frustration. How was he expected to rot here while the rest of the company struggled on in the forest? For all he knew, he could be the only one alive. The others could have perished from hunger, or who knew what else. Thorin grasped the bars of the cell angrily and tugged on them, fruitlessly, he knew, then threw himself onto the stone floor with a frustrated sigh. He ran a hand through his hair. He hated sitting here, idle, well-fed, safe, helpless. He shut his eyes, dark visions of the company flashing before them. And Bilbo. What had become of him? Thorin's heart ached. Oh, he hoped desperately that he was all right. If anything happened to him—but he pushed that thought away, focusing on his brown eyes and clever mouth, soft curls and bright gaze. Ah, that kiss in the stable. It was wonderful. Thorin had never felt that way before, and he wished for the hobbit's company, his comforting warmth pressed against his side, his fingers wound through his own, his head resting against his shoulder. Then Thorin would run a finger along his cheek, turn his face upwards, and lean slowly in. Their lips would meet, firmly and lovingly, just as wonderful as the other night—  
He sighed deeply and ran a tired hand through his hair. Fantasizing would not help anything, other than pass the time. He steepled his fingers under his chin and stared across the stone floor, frustrated, his gaze wandering to the iron bars that created the door, locking him in, prisoner. Yes, he was warm, and safe, and well fed, but to be here, helpless, was the worst prison anyone could have made. How much he would have given for just one word from any of the company. 

Bilbo paused for breath, ducking behind a corner as he narrowly missed being stepped on by a tall elven guard that had stepped unexpectedly into his path. This was really taking a toll on him—Bilbo had to be alert every second, never letting his guard slip for a moment, lest his flickering shadow be spotted or some unsuspecting elf brush against him.   
Checking the hall again, he quickly raced down after the retreating elf, hoping that the guard was heading for the kitchens. Bilbo could grab a bite to eat and go back to searching for another way out. So far, nothing was looking promising, and he was getting more and more frustrated, although he suspected that his empty stomach had something to do with his negative thoughts.   
Skirting the walls, he pattered softly down the stairs on the heels of the guard, who was indeed headed for the kitchens. Bilbo's stomach growled and he hoped that no one had noticed it. They probably heard that back in the Shire, he thought wryly to himself.   
The guard pushed open the door, the hinges creaking comfortingly as Bilbo narrowly slipped in behind him before it closed, the hobbit ducking into a dark corner after snatching a piece of bread from the table. He sank into the shadows, letting out a quiet breath as he slid down the wall to sit down, his ankles hurting slightly with all the time spent on his feet. He had hardly found a place to rest, and even now, as he quietly chewed his pilfered meal, he could feel his eyes closing, the soft clinking of dishes and the hum of low conversation coming from the kitchen relaxing and comforting.   
Shaking himself awake, he finished the bread and leaned his head against the wall, enjoying the moments of rest. He allowed his mind to wander, and it fell upon a subject very frequently visited—Thorin.   
Where was he? No one here had said anything about another dwarf found, or held captive, or released. The elves might not have even found him. He might still be in the forest, alone, if the spiders had not found him, too. Bilbo would never forgive himself if he left Thorin there. Slowly, his head fell onto his shoulder, the night in the stable coming back to him, the quiet firelight, the press of Thorin's lips upon his own, his reassuring warmth, his low voice, the smile that lit up his face when he looked upon him, a look that only came to him when he looked at Bilbo. Oh, where was he—  
Suddenly, a snatch of dialogue made Bilbo sit bolt upright.   
"...no, I cannot today. I have to go down to the deep cells to keep an eye on the dwarf."   
"Which one? I thought they were all in the upper cells!"   
"They are, except for one. He came in a few days ago—I suspect he is more important than the rest."   
"Or more dangerous," grumbled another, "Heron Thranduil has good reason to keep all of them locked up."   
Bilbo leapt to his feet. It had to have been Thorin—no other dwarves would come this way, and the others were all together in the upper halls! Thorin Oakenshield, found again! Slipping out from his corner, he quickly trailed the elven guard as he bade the others goodbye and stepped out the door.   
Down, down they went, deeper and deeper into the palace, the walls growing darker, the air more still. Surely it couldn't be long, now....

Thorin paced restlessly back and forth across the small floor of his cell, his hands clenched behind his back, brows furrowed in thought, boots scuffing the floor, head bent. How long had it been...hours...days...and still no word or actions! Angrily, he kicked at the bars, then fell against the wall, sliding down the stone to the floor. He could hear the low voices and footsteps outside as the guard changed places, the slight footsteps as they walked away, leaving the two new guards behind.   
It was quiet again. So quiet. Too quiet. It seemed to press around him, this idle stillness, so desperately was he to hear anything other than elven voices, elven words—  
"Thorin?" came a quiet voice through the still air. Now he was hearing voices. Next he would start seeing things.   
"Thorin Oakenshield, is that you?"   
"Bilbo!" he breathed, then leapt up and crossed the small cell in two strides towards the small voice. Sure enough, Bilbo's brown eyes stared out of the darkness towards him, and a happiness and relief engulfed him like he had not felt for weeks. His hands met Bilbo's, wrapped around the bars, and then, unexpectedly, Thorin slid his hand around to cradle the back of the hobbit's head, pulling him close. Bilbo started in surprise as Thorin's lips suddenly pressed against his own, but he was so glad to have any familiar touch that he relaxed into the kiss, happiness coursing through them, problems forgotten while they reveled in each other's touch, but Bilbo pulled apart first, casting a sly glance into the cell.  
"Is now really the best time?" he asked, his mouth quirking in the first smile he'd had in days.   
"I guess not," Thorin conceded, grinning as well. "Do you have news?"  
"Yes, the others are here, in the cells further up. They're fed and well, and waiting to hear from you."  
But the sharp noise of voices caused them to jump with fright and they retreated into the darkest corner to talk, faces still close so their whispers would not carry.   
"I've been looking for ways to get out of this place for quite some time now," Bilbo continued in a whisper, "but I haven't found anything yet. Getting the keys to your cells will not be a problem—it the getting out of the palace that will be the real puzzle."   
"Did you look for a water source?" Thorin asked, "If it makes it inside, it must make it out."   
"Yes, but there is no way to get to it," Bilbo sighed frustratedly, "we can't all troop through the hallways and out doors until we come to the outside."   
"Well, I trust you, and thank you," Thorin said gratefully, squeezing his hand. Bilbo hadn't even noticed they were holding hands in the first place.   
"Mm, you're welcome," Bilbo said, smiling up at him, relief once again filling him at the sight of Thorin's face. Not dead, not lost, here. Here with him.   
"You have no idea how much happiness seeing you brings me," Thorin breathed, his eyes searching Bilbo's, "how much holding your hand brings me." He reached through the bars and gently brushed a curl behind Bilbo's ear, his fingers trailing lightly across his cheek.   
Bilbo closed his eyes, the touch sending shivers up and down his spine, and he leaned forwards into Thorin, resting against him as best he could with the cold, unforgiving bars separating them. Thorin's fingers wound around his own and they sat against each other, silent, starved for any comforting touch, their breathing slowing, eyes fluttering shut.   
They must have fallen asleep, for a small commotion outside make them both jump awake.   
"It must be a meal," Thorin said, craning his neck to see outside. "It's not time to change guards yet."   
"Yes," Bilbo agreed, starting to stand, but Thorin caught his hand.   
"Please stay, Bilbo," he pleaded softly, "I cannot bear the darkness alone." His eyes took on a mischievous look. "They will open the door to bring the food in—you could come in, and we could..." he trailed off, an embarrassed grin playing at the corners of his mouth.   
Bilbo smiled, fantasies flashing through his mind, his heart swelling with desire, but he shook his head. "I can't, Thorin, I'm sorry. I need to find a way to get you out." He ducked close to Thorin, kissing him long and hard before pulling away. "I'll be back—I promise."   
"Bilbo!" Thorin breathed after him, the hobbit's hand slipping out of his own. He hung helplessly onto the bars of the cell as he watched Bilbo slip around the outside wall, just in time to avoid the elven guard walking in the doorway with a plate of food. "Be safe, love," he whispered to himself, staring out to where Bilbo had disappeared from sight.


	6. The Lonely Mountain, Pt. 1

But it was a restless night that they spent, for no cloak could keep out the brutal cold that crept through the stone floors and their many layers of clothing and sank into their bones. Very few slept through the night, and those that did still awoke with aching limbs and stiff muscles.

"One more night like that would ruin us," Dwalin grumbled, rubbing his neck, "If anyone attacked us we would be nothing more than blocks of ice. We must find another place to stay." The rest of the party heartily agreed, and with Thorin in the lead, the company trooped carefully back down into the mountain. Their footsteps echoed throughout the empty halls, the stone magnifying every breath and stomp of boots. Any second Bilbo expected Smaug to leap at them from around the corner, spouting fire, but nothing came.

Thorin led them to a set of rooms bordering a long, tall corridor, with a large hall at the end, bordered with graceful carved pillars.

"These were the king's chambers in the days of my forebears," Thorin said as they investigated the rooms, "Smaug would have a difficult time indeed if he tried to reach us here. The doors are stone and it is easily defensible, if dealings come to that." And so the company spread out, picking and choosing rooms excitedly. Fili and Kili claimed one with twin beds and ornate carvings across the arching stone walls, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur shared one with large beds and tree-like pillars, Ori, Dori, and Nori found a room with a graceful loft held up by a spiraling staircase, Balin and Dwalin settled on one with diamonds carved elegantly into the walls, and Oin and Gloin claimed one with an intricately carved ceiling that had them all craning their necks to look at it. Thorin immediately walked to the largest and grandest room, with a wide stone bed framed by four straight pillars.

Bilbo walked in and out of the other rooms, marveling at the wonderful carvings and graceful architecture. Padding down the hallway softly while the dwarves' voices echoed cheerily down the corridors, he gently set his bag down in a rather small, plain room near the beginning of the hallway. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he touched the Arkenstone, deep within his coat. It set his heart aflutter, but striking up his courage, he walked out of the room again to find the dwarves hunting through other rooms for furnishings.

Much to their luck, there were several heavy stone chests that held thick blankets, heavily embroidered and creased with the long ages of being tucked away. Arms full of rich fabric, the company hurried back to their rooms, laughing gaily as they decked them out to their liking. Bilbo wandered behind, picking up what the dwarves left behind and humming to himself, walking back to his chosen room and arranging his blankets as he liked. Sitting down on his bed, he leaned up against the wall to relax, but try as he might, he could not. Groaning, he swung himself to the floor and paced through the halls, lost in thought. Eventually his steps took him back to the large hall at the end of the corridor, where he walked continuously around the columns, ignorant to Thorin's footsteps as he entered the room.

"Is all well, Master Baggins?" came Thorin's rough voice.

Bilbo jumped, then stopped walking and ran a tired hand through his hair. "I'm nervous, I guess," he sighed.

"We have made it to the mountain. Smaug is gone for the time. The treasure is ours. We are safe and will be warm tonight. What more is there to do?" Thorin replied, walking closer.

"I don't...I don't know," Bilbo said, turning around, "I have a feeling like—like we are missing something and it will come back at any moment, like we have forgotten something."

"But we have not," Thorin said firmly, "we are safe here."

"I don't know," Bilbo repeated, turning to pace again, but Thorin caught his shoulder.

"Stop pacing," he commanded, not unkindly, "You will make me nervous as well."

Bilbo sighed again, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding at Thorin's touch. He stared at the floor, thinking hard.

"Bilbo," Thorin said quietly, making him glance up, "we are safe. What must I do to convince you of this?"

Bilbo thought for a moment. "Hold me again," he said quietly, looking into Thorin's eyes.

Something flashed behind them. "I thought you would never ask," he said almost breathlessly, placing his other hand on Bilbo's shoulder, who nodded slowly.

“I know I have been rather—inconsistent with my...my feelings,” he said simply, trying to focus with Thorin pressing closer, “And though I probably don’t need to say it…” he swallowed, then looked up into Thorin’s eyes. “I love you, Thorin.” 

Thorin smiled larger than any time Bilbo had seen; it lit up his regal face, his dark eyes shining into his own. Drawing Bilbo close to him, they stared into each other's eyes before leaning in for a kiss. It was wonderful, more wonderful than anything Bilbo could ever have imagined—warmth bloomed in his breast, his fears abruptly washed away, the dwarf lord's hands tightly around his waist. He loved, yes, loved Thorin, and Thorin loved him, and nothing else mattered.

They leaned into each other, eyes closed, breaths quickening. The taste of Thorin's mouth filled his own, but as Bilbo bent to Thorin's shape, he started with shock. The Arkenstone! Tucked inside his pocket as it was, Thorin was bound to feel it. But thankfully for Bilbo, Ori and Nori's voices sounded in the hall, drawing closer to where they stood.

Bilbo gently pulled away from Thorin. "Don't you think we would find somewhere more private?" he said quietly, smiling slightly. Thorin smiled again, much to his relief.

"Later," he said, stepping away from Bilbo as the other dwarves walked into the room, taking and laughing loudly, ready for dinner.

Their good spirits made even the cram taste better, lightening the darkest of spirits and spreading light and warmth into the darkest of corners. Even Bilbo had to admit that the hall must have been a festive place indeed, filled with merry laughter, good wine and large dinners. Oh, how much any one of them would have given for a grand meal!

Through the chatter and hearty laughter, Bilbo did his best to avoid Thorin's gaze, but when their eyes inevitably met, a jolt of fire shot through him and he had to wrench his mind away from Thorin's noble profile or the way his hair fell over his shoulder or the flexing of the muscles in his hand as he ate. Just a few more minutes, Bilbo lad, he kept telling himself, just a few more minutes.

Sooner rather than later, stomachs still partway empty but spirits full, the dwarves strolled off to bed, Balin on watch at the end of the corridor, the company splitting into twos and threes as they separated for the night, cheery "Good-nights" echoing through the rooms. Bilbo shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to his room, slowly threading his way down the hall, nodding and smiling to the wishes that came his way. As he slipped past Gloin, a hand caught his arm and he jumped, his heart quickening as he turned, and it jumped into his throat as he saw that it was Thorin who stopped him. With a quick glance towards a doorway, they stepped inside, and Bilbo realized that it was Thorin's bedroom.

"Is this private enough?" Thorin said, smiling and closing the doors.

Bilbo stared around him. "Yes, I think s—"

But he never got to finish, for Thorin thrust him against the stone wall, crushing his lips with his own. This time he didn't hesitate, throwing his arms around Thorin's neck and pulling him close, giving in to his desire. Their breaths quickened in tandem, mouths moving around each other's, Bilbo arching into Thorin, Thorin bending into Bilbo. Sounds of pleasure escaped them, their lips opening, the taste of their mouths mingling, their tongues finding each other.

Panting slightly, they pulled apart, then leaned in again before Thorin gently stood straight, sliding his arms from around the hobbit's small frame.

"Go get your things," he said with a smile, running his fingers across Bilbo's jaw, "you won't be sleeping alone tonight."

Smiling breathlessly and eyes shining, Bilbo turned from the room, quickly swinging the doors open and then shut behind him. He paused for a moment, happiness thrumming in his breast, before hurrying off to his room. Thank goodness Thorin had not felt the Arkenstone within his coat.

Sliding in the doorway, he quickly checked the room before bringing out the Arkenstone, hastily shoving it deep into his pack, double checking to make sure it was securely hidden. Then he swung his bag over his shoulder and padded softly back down to Thorin's room, not quite disappearing before Kili stuck his head out of his room and caught a glimpse of the small hobbit vanishing behind the thick stone doors.

Curiosity aroused, Kili slipped out into the hallway, sneaking over to peer through a crack in the door to see Thorin in his tunic and Bilbo in his shirtsleeves kissing passionately. Stifling a laugh, he hurried back to his room, shaking Fili awake.

"I do believe Thorin has taken a fancy to our burglar!" he laughed softly, and the two crept back to peer through the door, giggling rather immaturely at the sight. But Balin, on watch, caught them with their eyes pressed to the crack in the door and sent them, chuckling, back to bed.

With a glance of his own through the door, Balin laughed to himself and softly shut it the rest of the way. He sighed fondly at the thought of them together—it was good for Thorin, and Bilbo was a smart lad. They each needed someone to look after the other, and, eyes crinkled in a smile, Balin sat back down at the end of the corridor to finish the watch.

Bilbo never thought that kissing someone could make him so happy. His heart thrummed happily in his chest, Thorin’s arms securely around his back as he stood on his toes to reach his lips, his hands wound in Thorin’s tunic as he pressed himself into Thorin’s chest. 

Thorin bent down to meet him, ecstasy filling his thoughts as Bilbo pushed eagerly against his lips, his slight frame fitting so well into Thorin’s strong arms. Thorin wished he could hold him like this forever, just the two of them, wound tightly in each other’s grasp, but the feeling of desire started to bloom in his stomach and he gently touched Bilbo’s lips with his tongue, asking for entry. 

Suddenly pulling apart for a breath, Bilbo smashed his lips against Thorin’s once again, opening his mouth to Thorin’s, rocking forwards into him, his brow furrowing as his heart begged for more. Thorin‘a heart leapt at the hobbit's reaction, passionately sliding his tongue against Bilbo’s as he sighed deeply. Bilbo sighed as well, his voice sweetly higher than Thorin’s, the pair rocking back and forth as they kissed, their discarded coats on the floor, the room quiet around them. 

Finally, they pulled apart, breathing hard and arms around each other. Their eyes met the other’s, smiles touching their lips as they gazed at the other’s face, Bilbo reveling in Thorin’s dark eyes and strong nose, the curve of his strong shoulders beneath his tunic, Thorin admiring the soft curls of his hair and brown eyes, the gentle smile playing around his lips. 

Carefully, Thorin slid a rough hand up to cradle Bilbo’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek, eyes deep and dark on Bilbo’s own. Smiling fully, Bilbo felt his eyes close, Thorin’s touch warm, and comforting, and lovely, and strong, and reassuring...He slid his own hand up to gently grasp Thorin’s wrist, pressing his face farther into his hand. 

Thorin’s heart pounded in his chest, a broad smile crossing his face as Bilbo pressed into his grasp, a simple gesture of love and trust that set his pulse racing and heart swelling. Pulling Bilbo to him, he hugged him, hard, almost desperately, Bilbo folding into his arms and pressing his head to his chest with a contented sigh. 

“You have no idea how happy you are making me,” Thorin breathed, burying his face in Bilbo’s curls. 

“Mm,” Bilbo conceded, enjoying the deep vibrations of Thorin’s voice and the soft pounding of his heart as he pressed his head to Thorin’s chest. They stood, enfolded in each other’s arms, nothing to interrupt the way they clung to each other. 

After some time, Thorin spoke gently, sliding his arms from around the hobbit. 

“We should at least get ready for bed,” he said, “I think it would be rather cold standing here all night.” 

“I am quite warm in your arms,” Bilbo replied, hesitating an instant before kissing him again, then laughing as they pulled apart. “You are a wonderful kisser, you know that, right?” 

Thorin smiled and chuckled as he crossed to the other side of the bed, pulling off his boots and socks. “And I will never refuse a kiss from you.” 

Bilbo grinned to himself, sliding his suspenders from his shoulders and quickly slipping into a pair of clean-ish shorts that he slept in while Thorin’s back was turned. He would have to sleep in this shirt—none of his others were clean. Ah, well, it would do. Turning around again, Bilbo was surprised to see Thorin’s bare back facing him from across the sheets, the dwarf lord folding his tunic roughly before tossing it to the floor, swinging his legs onto the bed, but he paused when he caught sight of Bilbo’s face. 

“I hope you do not mind,” he said anxiously, “I normally sleep shirtless. I can put something on, if you like.” 

“Uh, well, no, this is fine,” Bilbo stammered, blushing red as his eyes traveled involuntarily across Thorin’s muscular chest and strong abs, his dark hair falling in waves across his shoulders. 

“Are you sure?” Thorin asked, his brow furrowing, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“Oh, no, you’re not making me uncomfortable,” Bilbo said quickly, sliding onto the bed and shyly looking down, “it’s just…” 

“Yes?” Thorin said concernedly, scooting closer. 

“You’re so handsome!” Bilbo burst out, immediately feeling his cheeks burn scarlet, “You’re so handsome, and I’m so…” He spread his hands helplessly. 

Thorin scooted up against him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Bilbo leaning against his side.

“Don’t worry about what you look like,” Thorin said lovingly, fondling his hands as Bilbo tried very hard not to stare at the muscles that moved and flexed when he moved. “I will love you no matter your face.” He laughed slightly. “Maybe if you slept shirtless as well, you would feel less uncomfortable.” 

“If you want me to take my shirt off,” Bilbo said, looking up at him, “I’m fine with that.” 

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean that,” Thorin said quickly, rather embarrassed at letting his guard slip, “if you don’t want to, I am—“

“So you don’t want to see me shirtless?” Bilbo laughed teasingly, raising an eyebrow. 

Thorin blushed red. “Well, I…” 

“Oh, be quiet,” Bilbo sighed, smiling and sitting upright, beginning to work at the buttons on his shirt. Thorin leaned back into the blankets and pillows, still embarrassed from his earlier remark, and tried not to watch as Bilbo undid the last button and slid the shirt off, folding in and laying it gently aside before swinging his legs into the bed and laying down next to Thorin with a sigh. 

“Better?” he asked slyly, looking over at the dwarf lord. 

“Mu—“ Thorin cleared his throat. “Much. But if you are uncomfortable, please—“ 

“Thorin Oakenshield, I know what I’m doing,” Bilbo said firmly, “If I did not want to sleep shirtless, we would not be having this conversation, and if my being shirtless makes you uncomfortable, then I will be terribly surprised, especially with the kisses you have given me.” He looked over at Thorin. “Now be quiet and kiss me.” 

Thorin grinned and reached forwards eagerly, their lips meeting again, the both of them leaning into the rhythm, scooting closer to lay more comfortably next to each other. They ended up laying on their backs, not quite touching, heads turned towards each other, lost in the other’s gaze. Thorin’s eyes started wandering down, from Bilbo’s face down his smooth jaw and slender neck, lingering on his slight chest, and traveling to rest upon the fluid lines of his stomach, rising and falling with each breath. Passion swelling within him, Thorin started to reach forwards to slide a hand across Bilbo’s side, but he stopped and pulled back, not wanting to hurt him, but Bilbo broke into his thoughts. 

“Please,” he breathed, staring into his eyes, “Please. It’s all right.” 

“Just—tell me if it is too much,” Thorin said worriedly, “I don’t want to hurt you. In any way.” 

“Don’t worry, Thorin, go ahead,” Bilbo replied, rather excited to finally have Thorin close to him. 

Thorin hesitated for a moment, then softly trailed his fingertips down Bilbo’s chest, careful to be gentle. Bilbo drew a quick breath, his eyes closing momentarily as Thorin stroked his chest, the soft touches becoming caresses, Thorin gently working his hand up and down his side. Suddenly, Thorin half rose, sliding his hand across Bilbo’s chest as he turned to kneel next to him, Bilbo sighing slightly at the movement. Still careful to be gentle, Thorin let his hand trail down Bilbo’s side to his hip and down his thigh, Bilbo breathing hard with suppressed desire. Slowly, and fighting his own passion, Thorin lightly placed his leg in between Bilbo’s own, then leaned down and kissed his collarbone, his lips meeting the soft skin so provocatively that Bilbo had to grip the sheets to restrain himself. 

“Too much?” Thorin asked, slightly breathlessly, “You’re holding onto the sheets.”

“No, no, I’m just fine,” Bilbo answered. 

“You know, you do not have to hold yourself back,” Thorin said with a smile, “do you know how many nights I have lain awake dreaming of your touch?” 

“Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo sighed, then relaxed, his leg creeping up around Thorin’s waist as he ran his hands up Thorin’s chest to cradle his face, the dwarf lord, to his surprise, trembling under his touch. 

“I just never want to repeat what happened that night in the forest,” Thorin said, trying to organize his thoughts, for Bilbo’s touch has sent them scrambling. 

“Honestly, if you wanted to repeat what you did that night, I don’t think I’d refuse,” Bilbo laughed, running a thumb across his cheek. 

Thorin chuckled too, but his desire finally rose like a wave within him, love filling his heart as Bilbo’s laugh filled his ears. Before he knew what he was doing he had straddled his hips and was pressing passionate kisses to his neck, the smooth skin every bit as wonderful as he had dreamed of. He pushed harder against him, hungering desperately for more, his brow furrowed as he kissed up and down Bilbo’s neck. 

The hobbit felt his own desire swell within him, and he involuntarily tilted his head back, his mouth falling open, his eyes closing slightly as he lost himself in the feel of Thorin’s mouth. Slowly, he started to slide backwards to lean against the headboard, Thorin crawling after him, never separating from him, reaching for his neck and shoulders, pressing himself into him. Bilbo’s hands crept up to his shoulders, his fingers working the muscle that flexed there while Thorin kissed him, the dwarf lord’s hands braced against the headboard, panting for breath in between each kiss. 

Thorin’s weight crushed him against the cold headboard, the solid presence strangely comforting and secretly wonderful—to press so close against him, to be this close after all the time apart. Bilbo closed his eyes and relaxed into him, and it was only after a moment did he realize that Thorin was trembling, his head pressed hard against Bilbo’s chest, his arms still braced to the sides; but his brow was furrowed, and he looked...scared, Bilbo realized, waiting for any sign from himself, a shove of rejection, or a shout to stop. His heart melted inside him; strong, noble, proud Thorin was scared of what he might do. 

Carefully, he began to stroke his back, just one hand lightly down his shoulder blades, Thorin trembling harder and nestling further into him. Slowly, Bilbo rested a hand on Thorin’s shoulder and brushed his long hair away from his neck, running his fingers through the thick strands, combing out its raven length to lie smoothly across Thorin’s broad back. Thorin sighed with pleasure, relaxing slightly, and Bilbo smiled, reaching out to fold his arms around him, his fingers coming up to cradle the back of Thorin’s head as the dwarf lord sat up, his hands sliding down to gently hold his waist. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo breathed, looking him in the eyes, “I love you.” 

Thorin’s face shone with happiness. “I love you too. So, so much.” 

“Don’t ever forget that,” Bilbo said firmly, his eyes crinkling in a smile as he lost himself in Thorin’s eyes. “I love you,” he breathed again, leaning in and pressing his lips to the dwarf lord’s. 

They kissed deeply, sitting in each other’s laps, Thorin’s hands on Bilbo’s waist, Bilbo’s cradling Thorin’s face. Their heads tilted, breaths warm on each other’s cheeks, eyes closed, the sweet taste of one filling the other, lips opening as their tongues met. The room was quiet and dark, the hour of night beginning to weigh upon them, the cold starting to nip at their skin. 

“I still cannot believe that we have made it,” Bilbo laughed through the kiss. 

“Mm hm,” Thorin said, smiling against his lips.

“It must have been hundreds of miles,” Bilbo mused.

“Mm hm,” Thorin said again. 

Bilbo pulled back and cocked an eyebrow at him. “The way you talk about it you’d think walking across the entire world and capturing mountains from dragons was a normal thing for you.” 

Thorin smiled. “Mm hm.” 

Bilbo sighed good-naturedly. “Well, this is quite the adventure for me,” he said, sliding his hands to his shoulders. 

“The trip, or tonight?” smiled Thorin. 

Bilbo’s brown eyes crinkled in a smile. “Both.” Thorin smiled, then his arms folded around him, their mouths pressed tightly against each other’s, opening as they rolled over and over, Bilbo clutching Thorin’s shoulders and wrapping his legs around his waist. Thorin stretched over him, one arm around his waist and the other around his back, pulling him closer. Thorin leaned in, pressing his lips to Bilbo’s shoulders, feeling the tendons flex as the hobbit gasped with pleasure and arched into him, opening to his touch, his hands clinging to his broad back, his small fingers grasping at him supplicatingly. 

Their breaths were quick now, Bilbo groaning slightly as Thorin’s mouth moved up his neck, working his fingers through his hair as Thorin’s tongue slid over his jawbone. Pushing against him, they rolled over again, Thorin’s hand stroking Bilbo’s spine, Bilbo’s mouth on the base of Thorin’s throat. Thorin sighed with pleasure, falling back slightly, the hobbit’s hands on his chest. 

Pausing for breath, Bilbo shivered as Thorin’s fingers stroked the base of his spine, then rubbed his cheek against Thorin’s as the dwarf lord’s hands crept over his hips. Falling into him once again, they kissed vigorously, turning over, the blankets tangling around them, enclosed in each other’s arms, oblivious to everything around them, chests heaving and hearts pumping. Finally, Thorin pulled the blankets over their heads and they lay next to each other, snuggled together, kissing gently as Bilbo traced Thorin’s collarbone and Thorin caressed Bilbo’s cheek. 

“We have come quite a long way, Master Burglar,” Thorin said softly, his breath warm in the cold night. 

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, his face moving in a smile under Thorin’s gentle hand, “we have.” 

“When we hired a burglar, I did not know that he would be of such use.” He paused, his rough fingers softly brushing Bilbo’s cheek. “You have stolen my heart, dear Bilbo,” he murmured, his dark eyes shining. 

Bilbo was quiet, his eyes brightening, his mouth moving with unspoken words, but he leaned up and kissed Thorin, long and slow. 

“And you are the king of mine,” he whispered, resting his head against Thorin’s chest and closing his eyes. Thorin smiled, his heart aflame, then placed his head on Bilbo’s, breathing in his sweet scent. Closing his eyes, he curled around Bilbo’s small frame, surrounding him with warmth and setting both of their hearts beating hotly again, but nestled in Thorin’s strong arms, Bilbo had never felt so happy. They fell asleep, warm in the cold night, a small island in the fortress of stone. 


	7. The Lonely Mountain, Pt. 2

Bilbo awoke in darkness, a haze of warmth surrounding him as he lay curled against Thorin, the dwarf lord curving around him in sleep, the blankets weighing comfortingly upon them. He lay still, breathing quietly and enjoying the rise and fall of Thorin’s chest and the secure press of his arm around his shoulders, the room quiet around them. Wondering what time it was, Bilbo decided he didn’t care and snuggled farther into Thorin, letting out a sigh as he twined his leg around Thorin’s and closed his eyes again. 

“Are you awake?” Thorin asked sleepily. 

“Mm,” Bilbo murmured in reply. “A little.” 

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Thorin said. 

“You didn’t.” 

“Mm.” 

They lay quietly, trying to return to sleep, but nothing came. Finally, Thorin sighed deeply. 

“Still awake?” Bilbo said quietly. 

“Yes.” Thorin sighed again, shifting around slightly. Bilbo turned over and placed his hands on Thorin’s chest, resting his chin on his fingers and watching him fondly through half-closed eyes. Thorin’s dark hair spread across the pillows, the curve of his shoulders peeking out above the rich blankets, the muscles of his neck flexing as he tilted his head down to look at him, the shadows flowing gently across his face, the dim light catching on his strong profile and dark eyelashes as they fluttered open, his face moving in a gentle smile as he gazed at him. 

“What?” Bilbo prompted. 

“You,” Thorin replied simply. 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, then closed his eyes again, laying his cheek against his hands. He tried to relax, but he could feel the weight of Thorin’s gaze upon himself. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo mumbled, “close your eyes.” 

“Why?” 

“Because...because I know you’re watching me!” 

“And that affects you how?” Thorin smiled. 

Bilbo looked up indignantly. “Just close your eyes!”

“You were the one who decided to sleep shirtless!” Thorin laughed gently, “but I will, if you insist.” 

Bilbo smiled shyly. “Well, maybe I don’t insist.” He leaned forwards on his chest, reaching for his lips. He pressed his lips to Thorin’s, gently tilting his head to work his mouth, the soft kiss a wonderful wake up call. Thorin played with his lips, brushing them with his tongue, reveling in their softness and eager press. He let out an involuntary sigh as Bilbo’s tongue met his own, and he felt the hobbit smile against his mouth, his hand sliding up Bilbo’s spine to cradle the back of his head. 

A gentle pounding at the stone door caused them to draw apart, the door opening slightly to let a beam of light fall into the room. Balin poked his head in. 

“Thorin, it is dawn,” he called quietly, “We have much work to do.” 

Thorin nodded respectfully. “Right—I’ll be there soon.” Balin bowed slightly in reply and ducked out of the room, deciding to ignore the two shirtless figures and the question of whether they had pants on or not. 

“I guess it is time to get up,” Thorin sighed, looking over at Bilbo. 

“I guess so,” Bilbo said, then snuggled back up to him, closing his eyes once again. 

“What are you doing?” Thorin asked. 

“Going back to sleep.”

Smiling, Thorin leaned back on his hand and ran gentle fingers through Bilbo’s hair, feeling the delicacy of his scalp and the softness of his curls. 

“That feels good,” Bilbo murmured. 

Thorin smiled down at him, admiring the line of his profile and the curve of his jaw, the color of his lips and his slender fingers. He bent down and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, then leaned down to kiss him, long and hard, his brow furrowing with passion. 

“Good morning, Bilbo,” he murmured against his mouth. 

“Good morning, Thorin,” Bilbo replied, then slowly leaned into the kiss, pulling Thorin farther into him and sighing as the dwarf lord slid a hand across his bare chest. It was a wonderful way to wake, pressed up against his chest, their lips on one another’s, safe in his arms, Bilbo thought happily to himself. He heartily wished he could stay in bed all day, and he said so. 

“As do I,” Thorin agreed, but he slid off the bed and started to search for his clothes on the floor, leaving Bilbo to sit up, stretching and yawning, the blankets falling away from his smooth shoulders. 

Thorin watched him from the corner of his eye, sneaking glances at his bare back as he himself pulled in his shirt and tunic. They both dressed quickly, belt buckles clinking as they cinched them around their waists, Thorin pulling on his boots as Bilbo adjusted the fit of his coat. 

“Ready?” Bilbo said, standing patiently by the door and watching Thorin swing on his heavy coat. 

“Ready,” the dwarf lord replied, shaking out his hair and striding to the door. “Wait,” he said quickly, as Bilbo made to step out, and bent down to kiss him. Bilbo rose up on his toes to meet Thorin’s mouth, his breath warm on his cheeks as their lips met, firm and simple, a loving press to start the day. 

Thorin said nothing as he pulled apart, his eyes shining into Bilbo’s own, then turned down the hallway, gently brushing his hand against Bilbo’s as he strode off towards the others. 

Bilbo stood, breathless and pink-cheeked, for a moment in the doorway, then quickly ran to his pack, making sure that the Arkenstone was still tucked safely inside. It would not do for anyone to find it. Satisfied with its secrecy, he hurried off down the hallway after Thorin’s retreating back. 

“Morning,” Thorin said, striding into the arched room at the end of the hall. 

A chorus of cheerful “morning”s answered him, the rest of the dwarves awake, curls of smoke rising to the ceiling, boots propped up lazily on the long stone table, Bilbo padding into the room behind him. 

“Everyone’s night was fine?” Thorin asked, leaning across the table to rifle through one of the food packs for a piece of cram. 

“Yes, thanks,” Bofur replied, puffing out a large smoke ring that sailed to the ceiling. 

“It was much better than last night,” Ori piped up. 

“How was yours?” Bombur asked respectfully. 

Thorin hesitated for a moment. “Wonderful.” 

“If he got much sleep,” Kili whispered to Fili, and they both dissolved into silent laughter. 

Bilbo pretended not to hear them as he snatched a piece of cram from the table as well, fighting the blush in his cheeks and sliding onto the stone bench while Thorin strode to the head of the table. 

“We have much work to do,” he mused, turning the piece of cram over in his fingers. 

“Aye,” voices echoed around the table. 

“We should look over the defenses that we have,” Bofur advised, twiddling his pipe in his fingers, “we don’t know how much time we have before Smaug returns.” 

“True,” Gloin agreed, “and we should definitely look over the front gate. That will most likely be the place our...visitors...will go to.” 

“Aye, but we should also scope out the damage inside, too,” Dori said, “We don’t know how much of this place Smaug has gutted.” 

“Thorin? What say you?” Dwalin grumbled, looking over at him. 

Thorin raised his eyes from the table. “It’s all very well, but you are forgetting one thing.” He paused, his gaze searching the company. “The Arkenstone. It lies here, in these halls, and it must be found. We can look through the rest of the treasure—we will find weapons and armor, and tools we can use in our defenses. But we must find the Arkenstone.” 

Bilbo did his best to keep his gaze steady as murmurs of assent echoed around the table, the dwarves’ curiosity and longing for the gold downstairs aroused. He thought of the stone tucked in his pack and laced his fingers together under the table so he wouldn’t start drumming them nervously, worried thoughts flashing through his mind. 

“Then gold it is!” Fili said, looking around the table excitedly. Immediately, the rest of the company swung their legs over the side of the benches and clambered to their feet, pipes snuffed out and clothing straightened, the sound of merry voices echoing through the hall. Thorin flashed a quick smile at Bilbo, then led the way down the corridor, the group following excitedly, jostling each other and reminiscing upon the rumors of the riches of the treasure. 

“Excited to choose your fourteenth share, Master Baggins?” Kili grinned, coming up beside Bilbo. 

“Oh, yes,” Bilbo said truthfully, smiling, his hands in his pockets. 

“Oh, I can’t wait!” Fili sighed, glancing over at his brother, “Great coats of shining mail, necklaces seeming to be made of sunlight, golden helms—“ 

“And silver harps, and gems the size of eggs,” Kili continued, “and long swords set with jewels—“ 

“What are you going to take?” Fili asked Bilbo curiously. 

“Oh, I don’t know, probably just a few handfuls of coins and a necklace or two, if I find one I like,” Bilbo said honestly. “I haven’t thought about it, really.” 

“I’m sure you’ll find lots of things you like, besides our uncle’s company in bed,” Kili said slyly, elbowing him. Bilbo opened his mouth for an indignant reply, but Fili laughed and interrupted. 

“Come on, let’s go up ahead! If we get there first, we get first pick.” And ducking under Oin and Gloin’s arms, they darted away, Bilbo left behind. He laughed to himself and shook his head. They would joke all they liked, and Bilbo would let them—after all, they were Thorin’s nephews. 

A collective murmur of astonishment flew through the company as the great hall, filled with gold, hove into view, the treasure shining invitingly in the dim lighting. Then a cheer rose up, and thirteen pairs of heavy boots ran down the stairs, the company spreading out as they strode across the coins, staring down in awe. Fingers cautiously fondled necklaces and bracelets, coins spilling through hands, gasps and shouts of wonder punctuating the silence. Thorin, Balin and Dwalin crossed the hall to the other side, making their way to another set of room that they knew held armor and weapons. Thorin gazed around himself. It was every bit as magnificent as he had dreamed it would be—and all of it was his, finally, and rightfully, as the King Under the Mountain. Part of him wanted to hang back, to fall on his knees and rake his fingers through the coins, the metal falling in streams from his hands, the ringing of gold filling his ears, but he turned away and continued walking, fighting the impulse, searching the coins at his feet. 

Bilbo trailed behind them, feeling rather self-important for being the only one to have seen this place beforehand, and yet the magnitude scared him a little; the last time he had seen the treasure, the hulking figure of Smaug sat atop it. And with all this gold, where would he start looking? It seemed quite impractical to just start at one corner. Wondering mildly what to do, he kept a little ways behind Dwalin, staring interestedly around himself. 

Climbing the stairs on the other side of the wide hall, Thorin, Dwalin and Balin began speaking of weapons and defenses and the rooms in which they might best be found, and Bilbo paused on the balcony overlooking the hall while the they passed through the arched entrance and into the next hall. The gold stretched out before him like an immeasurable carpet, the individual coins and jewels indistinguishable in the fluid rise and fall of each hill of treasure, dotted only be the small figures of the dwarves, leaving small cascades of gold in their wakes, like so many small boats on a large lake. 

Drumming his fingers on the balcony for another moment, he peered after the three that had gone ahead of him, then caught sight of them turning around a corner to his left. Deciding to do a little exploring of his own, he turned right, passing two or three rooms filled with gold only to enter another, connected to its counterparts by elegant arched openings. 

This chamber had fewer coins and more jewelry, neater than the rest, but still jumbled, as if run through by hasty fingers before a quick retreat, which was most likely exactly what happened, Bilbo reminded himself. Rich cloaks hung about the walls, fur-trimmed and embroidered, gold and silver thread adorning the dark colors in intricate patterns. Still rather nervous about touching anything, Bilbo glanced around himself before withdrawing his hands from his pockets and carefully fingering the fabric and turning it over to admire the seams and the handiwork, the stitches more fine than the best embroidery he had seen back home. 

He pulled the fabric back and let it fall against the wall, admiring the way it fell in elegant waves against the stone. Humming to himself and shoving his hands back in his pockets, he turned to the gold, walking around the center plinth and picking up pieces that caught his eye, the occasional surprised shout echoing from the treasure hall behind him. He fingered a silver necklace, small sapphires glittering in teardrops along its length, then laid it carefully down to pick up several gold chains, hooked together at the clasps and so fine you could hardly make out the individual rings. Letting it slide satisfactorily through his fingers, thick gold and silver rings studded with large stones blinked at him out of the shining heap, wide bands of cut metal arching out, the bracelets breaking the monotony of the other jewelry. Bilbo lifted a heavy pair of silver cuffs, turning them over, searching the elegant shapes cut into them. Maybe he would take these—they seemed like they would fit him all right. 

Setting them on the corner of the stone table to make them easy to find for later, Bilbo stepped into the next room to find much of the same, fine garments hung on the walls or fallen to the floor, every shape and shade of jewelry heaping around the room. Unconsciously, Bilbo quickly set down the goblet he held and stepped away as he noticed an approaching figure. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said in relief, smiling as he stepped into the room. The dwarf lord’s raiment was quite changed from before. His dark hair spread over a rich red cloak, clasped at the shoulders with gold, a silver breastplate shining upon his chest, richly wrought armguards peeking through the folds of his cloak. Thorin smiled when he saw Bilbo’s rather awestruck expression, fabric draped over his arm. 

“I thought I might find you here,” he said, stepping closer. “Did you find anything you liked?” 

“Uh—well, yes,” Bilbo said, trying to wipe the surprise off his face and regaining some semblance of normalcy, “A few bracelets, a necklace or two, but nothing much. What did..” but he trailed off as Thorin proffered the cloak that was draped across his arm. 

“For you,” Thorin said, his steady gaze watching Bilbo’s reaction. 

“Matching?” Bilbo said in surprise as he noticed the clasps, identical to the ones adorning Thorin’s own cloak. He blushed slightly as Thorin nodded. 

“You do like it?” Thorin said, anxiousness creeping into his voice. 

“Oh yes,” Bilbo laughed, smiling and taking it from him. “Besides, I’ve been told I look rather good in red.” 

“And so you do,” Thorin smiled, helping him swing it around his shoulders and fasten it to his satisfaction. “And so you do,” he repeated, gently holding his shoulders as he gazed down at him, the cloak trailing the ground, much like his own. 

“And now that I have helped you put something on, I want you to do something for me,” Thorin said more seriously, looking into his eyes. 

“Of course,” Bilbo replied, staring steadily back, his brows creasing slightly. Slowly, Thorin reached over to the table and picked up something that he had carried in with him; a crown, black and gold, shining in many facets, different from the rest of the gold in the room. It made the other things look cheap and flimsy, the great crown held carefully in his grasp. 

“This is the crown of my grandfather, Thrain, the crown of the King Under the Mountain. It would seem selfish and...not right if I were to crown myself. It would...it would do me a great honor if you would set it upon me.”

Bilbo paused, searching Thorin’s face and measuring the depth of sincerity in his voice. His eyes were clear and steady, and Bilbo knew how much it meant to him. As if he would ever refuse. 

“I would be more than happy to do so,” Bilbo said firmly, then reached carefully for the crown, his fingers brushing against Thorin’s as he took to full weight of the metal upon himself, the gold unsurprisingly heavy in his grasp. Turning it to face towards him, he slowly lifted it higher, rising up on his toes as Thorin bent down slightly to he could reach, bowing close to him as the hobbit gently placed the crown upon his head, making double sure it was centered. 

“There,” Bilbo said a little breathlessly, taking in how well it sat upon his brow like it was crafted solely for him, his raven hair flowing from underneath it, his clear eyes looking into his own, the points of the crown perfectly framing his face. Bilbo didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it came rushing out in a long sigh. Smiling suddenly, Thorin bent forwards to kiss him, their eyes closing as their lips met, Thorin’s hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. 

The kiss was long and slow, breaths warm on the other’s cheeks, the other’s lips so wonderful and delicious that they both regretted pulling apart. 

“Thank you,” Thorin said, catching his hand and bringing it up to his mouth, letting his tongue run along his knuckles as Bilbo blushed pink, staring up at him with ardent love shining in his eyes. 

“Now come,” Thorin said, gently pulling him out into the hall and back towards the others, “we must find—“

“Thorin!” came a worried shout from down the corridor, Fili rushing into view. Bilbo gave Thorin’s hand a quick squeeze before sliding it out of his grasp and stepping up close beside him. 

“What is it?” Thorin asked suddenly, Fili skidding to a halt in front of him. 

“I ran—up—upstairs to get—get something,” the younger dwarf gasped, motioning upstairs, “and I thought I would—check—check outside—“ he paused again, leaning forwards for a large breath. “People moving this way!”

“Survivors from Laketown, no doubt,” Thorin growled to himself, quickly striding forwards, Fili and Bilbo hurrying along behind him. “We must fortify the front gate!” 

Well, that puts an end to the treasure hunting for the day, I suppose, Bilbo thought to himself as he ran quickly behind Thorin, and so begins the defense of the mountain, for better or for worse. He glanced at the band of gold encircling Thorin’s temples and hoped that all this wouldn’t get out of hand. He trusted Thorin completely, though—things would turn out fine in the end. But as he stepped into the room lined with armor, swords, and shields in which the other dwarves were already gathered, Bilbo knew that things might change, and not entirely for the better. 

That night, Thorin was late to the bedroom, Bilbo sitting on the edge of the bed, biting his lips and swinging his legs with anticipation. After what seemed like forever, the stone doors swung gently open and Thorin strode in, stopping at the sight of the small hobbit waiting impatiently. 

"I thought you would be here," he said, smiling. Bilbo's face lit up and he jumped off the bed and ran towards Thorin, only to be swept up in his arms as their lips met, half laughing through the kiss, Thorin's arms tightly around Bilbo's waist and Bilbo's hands on Thorin's shoulders. Slowly, they stopped spinning, feet touching stone once more, and broke apart, Thorin leaning down to kiss Bilbo's forehead, who closed his eyes in contentment.

A draft of cold air wafted through the crack at the bottom of the door, causing Bilbo to shudder and snuggle deeper into Thorin's arms.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his face pressing into the hobbit's curly hair. Bilbo nodded, sliding his hands inside Thorin's coat, reveling in the warmth of his body.

"Here," Thorin said, and gently pushed him away, then removed his own coat and tunic, Bilbo wrapping his arms around himself to conserve his warmth. "Put this on," Thorin said, handing him the thick tunic, his muscular torso covered only by a thin shirt, his arms flexing as he held the material out to Bilbo, who tore his eyes away from those arms and tentatively took the heavy fabric. He pulled off his own shirt, shivering slightly at the shock of the cold air, Thorin's eyes roaming over the smooth curve of his stomach and the delicate lines of his back, his mouth watering as the hobbit pulled the tunic over his head, his face peeking out invitingly.

"It's a little big," Bilbo fussed, arranging it on himself, the fabric falling past his knees, the sleeves too long, the tips of his fingers barely showing. Thorin smiled, fondly taking his hands.

"It looks good on you," he said, his eyes glancing over the way the fabric fell and bunched around his waist, smooth across the chest before becoming wrinkled and creased further down.

Bilbo blushed and shrugged, the neckline falling down, exposing the smooth line of jaw to neck to shoulder. "It smells like you, and I like that," he conceded. "And I am much warmer."

"Much?" Thorin asked playfully.

"Much," Bilbo agreed, and they kissed, lovingly and simply, Thorin holding his small hands in his large, rough ones.

Bilbo reached up and ran his fingers though Thorin's thick tresses. "Can I braid your hair?" he asked, smiling.

"Of course," Thorin replied, kissing his cheek and climbing onto the bed, where Bilbo clambered up behind him and sat on the pillows, arranging himself to sit with a good angle. He ran his fingers through Thorin's jet black hair, feeling its thickness and the tenderness of his scalp against his nimble fingers. He combed busily through it, Thorin sitting quietly against him, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation, his mind wandering back to the tunic falling off Bilbo's shoulder and the fluid line of his neck.

"You are beautiful, you know," he murmured as Bilbo chose a small section of hair and split it into three strands. He felt the hobbit laugh and the motion as he shook his head.

"I am not beautiful," he said, the smile showing in his voice, starting the braid.

"But you are," Thorin protested, turning to look up at him, "You are."

Bilbo laughed again, a flush creeping into his cheeks as Thorin looked intently upon him. "How, then, am I?" he said teasingly, raising his eyebrows.

"You are," Thorin murmured, "Your soft eyes, your full lips, the way your neck flows into your shoulder, the curve of your waist, the lines of your back, your legs down to your toes," he said, sliding a lazy hand down Bilbo's thigh, making the hair prickle along the hobbit's arms. His fingers slipped in the braid.

"The way your cheeks move when you smile, your ears through your hair, when you drum your fingers on the table when nervous—"

"S-Stop," Bilbo said haltingly, the flush creeping down his neck, "You're being silly."

"No, I'm not," Thorin said sincerely, looking up at him again as Bilbo laid the finished braid across his shoulder, his dark eyes full of love. He felt the warmth across his cheeks and hastily cleared his throat.

"You're not so bad yourself, you know," he said, sliding his hands down Thorin's chest and resting his chin on his head, "When you smile you are the most handsome thing I have ever seen."

"Mm," Thorin said, doing just that, his hand coming up to hold Bilbo's wrist.

"The way your arms flex when you move, the way your neck moves when you turn your head, the curve of your jaw, the line of your profile," Bilbo listed quietly, running his pinkie down Thorin's nose. Thorin reached up gently and took his hand, kissing his fingers.

"The way your eyes light up when you look at me, the way you hold me," he continued, sliding his face towards Thorin's, "the way everything seems to align and crackle when there is danger, the surety of your steps—" their lips were so close— "the way you kiss me," Bilbo mumbled, their lips brushing together, before Thorin reached up and pulled Bilbo in, kissing him so that he was pulled down across his chest, falling into Thorin's lap, his head across his knees, their faces still pressed together.

"You see," Thorin murmured, "you are beautiful." His hand slid inside the tunic, Bilbo's heart beating frantically against his fingers, his soft brown eyes searching his face, the brows creased ever so slightly, Thorin's hair like a curtain around him.

"I believe you," he replied dreamily, murmuring into his mouth, kissing him, "I believe you." The kisses came faster, Bilbo's arms around Thorin's neck, pulling himself up and closer to his face, kissing quickly and desperately, gasping for breath between each one, unable to stop. Thorin's hand on the small of his back caused him to arch suddenly, sucking in a fast breath before leaning in again, and again, and again.

Unexpectedly, Thorin gently bit down on Bilbo's bottom lip. An involuntary moan escaped the hobbit, causing Thorin's heart to leap. He did it again, Bilbo groaning with pleasure, his fingers digging into his back, his chest heaving. He arched further back, eyes closed and mouth open, his delicate throat exposed. Thorin brushed his lips against Bilbo's skin, breathing hotly, then pressed his face into the curve, feeling the muscles flex beneath his mouth as Bilbo panted for breath, struggling to pull him in more, his fingers kneading his back.

He twisted into Thorin, his lips finding the hollow of his throat, Thorin falling back on the pillows, his waist clenched firmly between Bilbo's knees. The hobbit pressed his face harder into his neck, reveling in the perfect way it seemed to fit there, pushing Thorin's head back as he sighed with enjoyment, his hands creeping around Bilbo's waist. But Bilbo broke the kiss and shoved his hands down to grab his hips, breathing hard, crying out as Thorin's hands tightened around his hipbones, then slid downwards.

He rocked forward, his breath warm on Thorin's neck, his eyes shut as Thorin's hands massaged the inside of his thighs, rubbing his face and shoulders along Thorin's chest, his hands twisted in his clothes. Slowly, he flattened himself into Thorin's body, molding to his curves, wrapping around every part of him. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, twisting around each other, legs tangling, eyes closed, mouths finding any bit of skin they could reach.

Thorin rolled to catch him on his side, winding his leg around Bilbo's and caressing his back, mouth on his neck, Bilbo holding him like he would never let go.

And that was fine with him.

He slowly pressed Bilbo back into the pillows, his mouth creeping up to meet Bilbo's. This kiss was deep—as deep as their love for each other, deeper than the lake, deeper than the roots of the mountain, deeper than the eaves of the forest. They explored each other's mouth, not stopping to breathe, pushing back into the blankets, the sweetness of one filling the other.

They did not know how long that kiss was—nor did they care. Bilbo's hands crept up to cradle Thorin's face, Thorin's arm across his back, their legs still wound together. Finally, they pulled back gently, their eyes meeting, saying nothing, just breathing, and loving.

"Bilbo," Thorin said, barely audible, his eyes never moving.

"Yes?" Bilbo replied, his voice breathless as his gaze searched Thorin's face.

"Will you stay...stay with me?"

"Now? Of course," he said, an adorable crease appearing in his brows.

"No," Thorin said, something in his voice deeper and more serious, "after. After all of this is over."

Bilbo's mouth opened, then closed, his face in pained thought. "I—I don't know," he said finally. "I would be leaving so much there."

"But you would have me," Thorin said, his voice low, leaning down, "you would have me forever."

Bilbo turned onto his side, thinking hard, Thorin gently nibbling the tip of his ear. "I need to think about it."

"Please," Thorin murmured, "I want to be with you. Forever." Bilbo smiled and turned back to him, kissing him again, simply and sweetly, Thorin's hand smoothing his hair back from his temple. "Think about it."

They nestled into each other, Bilbo planting another kiss on Thorin's forehead, then tucked his head under Thorin's chin and brought his arms in close, pressed up against his chest in what had become their second nature, sleeping against each other, Bilbo curled against Thorin, the dwarf lord's strong arm around his shoulders. But although Thorin's breathing had become deep and even, Bilbo lay awake late into the night, Thorin's question burned into his mind.

He could stay. No one would miss him at home. His home would be sold, his belongings divided. Someone else would find happiness at Bag End. He would have gold and jewels and rich clothing, good food, dwarves to wait on him, Thorin at his side every day, his arms, his scent, his kisses. No danger, no Sackville-Bagginses banging on his door, only the quiet of the mountain and Thorin's loving gaze. But something stirred inside him, and he remembered the wind through the tall grass in the fields, the sweetness of the flowers by his bright green door, the warm sunlight through his hair as he sat under the shade of the Party Tree, the serenity in the blue sky and the quiet bustle of the hobbits surrounding him; but the dark of Thorin's eyes returned to him. Would he go back? Could he?

And he stayed awake, puzzling it over again and again, until he grew weary with thought and dropped off to sleep.


	8. Dragon Sickness

Bilbo, though, grew more concerned for Thorin with every passing day. Something was eating him from the inside; his eyes took on a dark, hungry look, his brows permanently furrowed, his fingers always grasping for something, muttering under his breath.  
And he would not let Bilbo out of his sight. When he woke early in the morning, he would rouse Bilbo and almost drag him down to the treasure halls, where he would spend hours and hours doing nothing but pacing, while Bilbo sat nearby, bored out of his mind, and yet frightened of this thing that grew inside of the King Under the Mountain. Thorin's caresses grew harder, more demanding, his kisses violent and full of desire. The gentle hand that would rest about his waist turned into a vice-like grasp, his fingers digging into his side until Bilbo loosened them, but it would always return. Thorin did not notice when his touches bruised or when the hobbit cried out or shrank away, more in pain than anything, heedless of his words. Bilbo began to be afraid of Thorin, as much as he tried to fight it, but something inside him quaked whenever Thorin turned his fiery eyes upon him.  
Hardly having a minute alone to himself, he began to slip away while Thorin was preoccupied with the others. While this would not always work, it gave Bilbo some time by himself, worrying over what was happening and what was going to happen. Thorin did not mention again the question he had asked, but deep in his heart, Bilbo knew that this new Thorin was going to keep him there, no matter what, nothing more than a captive.  
Still he fought against the feeling of hopelessness, trying to find glimpses of the old Thorin that still lingered below, he knew. Every now and then he would catch a glimpse of Thorin's back and expect him to turn around, happy and smiling, but it was never so.

Still he fought against the feeling of hopelessness, trying to find glimpses of the old Thorin that still lingered below, he knew. Every now and then he would catch a glimpse of Thorin’s back and expect him to turn around, happy and smiling, but it was never so. 

One afternoon, Thorin ordered the rest of the dwarves to put on their armor to take a patrol of the surrounding areas, checking defenses and the lay of the land. 

“For,” he said darkly, “we must be ready if anyone should try to attack us.” 

Bilbo stood off to the side, watching them strap on chestplates and cinch on shinguards, the worked metal glistening richly in the torchlight. They were quick, now, putting it on, and soon they were almost ready to leave, checking weapons and taking in soft voices among themselves. Bilbo adjusted Sting around his waist and fiddled with the collar of his shirt, the rings of Mithril peeking out the top, checking to make sure his ring was in his pocket. He was ready for his part—he traveled light anyways. 

“Master Baggins,” Thorin called to him, motioning him over to the doorway. Bilbo quickly crossed to him, wondering mildly what this could be about. 

“Come,” Thorin said, turning down the hallway. Bilbo followed, confused as to why they were walking deeper into the mountain when they had somewhere to be and business outside, Thorin walking down and down, until Bilbo realized that they were going to the treasure hall. 

They reached the top of the stairs, the gold spread out before them, coins sprinkling the floor where they stood. Bilbo turned to Thorin. 

“Why are we here?” he asked. 

Thorin glanced behind himself, as if afraid of being followed, then stepped closer to the hobbit. “I need you to stay here.” 

“Here?” Bilbo laughed confusedly, “Why?”

“I cannot trust any of the others. I need someone to guard the gold, to watch it, and they have all abandoned me.” He turned to look at Bilbo. “You are the only one I can trust here.” 

“Thorin, my place is out there, with them—with you,” Bilbo pushed, “you can’t expect anyone to sneak in while we’re out, we have this place locked down—“ 

“Bilbo,” Thorin said suddenly, stepping towards him. He backed up, fear flickering within him. “You need to stay here, where no one can take my gold, my jewels, my treasure, or you,” he breathed, his eyes beginning to shine with passion. “You do not belong out there, in harm’s way; you do not belong in battle. You will be safe here—where no one can take you!” he repeated, advancing forwards, Bilbo backing up before him. 

“Thorin, please, just let me—“ 

“Don’t test me!” Thorin shouted suddenly as Bilbo hit the wall, the hobbit pressing himself as far away as he could get. “Don’t test me,” he repeated dangerously, leaning his hands on the wall on either side of Bilbo’s head and staring into his eyes. “I want you safe, and I want the gold safe. I will not part from any of it. Now stay here. Do you understand?” 

Bilbo’s voice caught in his throat. “Yes,” he answered finally. “But I really think that—“ 

Thorin cut him off, kissing him hard, his eyes fluttering shut as Thorin pressed his head back into the wall. “I will be back,” he said lowly, trailing a hand along his jaw, “Stay here.” 

“Right,” Bilbo sighed, looking downwards. Thorin smiled, but there was something wrong about it—it was not the same kind Thorin who had smiled at him their first night here. “Goodbye,” Bilbo called at his retreating back. He waited until the echo of his footsteps had faded away, the halls growing once again silent and still, then sat down upon the steps with a heavy sigh. 

What was he to do? He could not just sit here, idle, when his place was out with the others. After all, that was part of his contract—burglary, not sitting on guard duty. He drummed his fingers on the stone, brow furrowed in thought. Thorin’s concerns were warranted as the threat of attack was a large possibility, but if things continued in this manner and he did not yield what he had promised the men of Laketown, he would get them all killed. And what did Bilbo have to bargain with—nothing. Nothing...except for the Arkenstone, tucked in his belongings upstairs, deep inside his pack. That was something. Bilbo steepled his fingers under his chin, face furrowed in deep thought. In addition, he had bade him stay here, as if he were nothing more than another piece of the treasure. He sighed. If things became much worse, he would have to take matters into his own hands...

Things did indeed become worse. Thorin ordered everyone around, no longer making requests, muttering under his breath, not letting Bilbo out of his sight. Everyone marched uneasily around like they were in a war camp (which they were, Bilbo remembered), exchanging worried glances in the hallways, afraid to speak out for fear of Thorin's wrath, conversing only in whispers in the shadows of columns and corners.  
Thorin sat for hours on end in the throne room, staring darkly into the distance, drumming his fingers together, his rich cloaks and robes spread around him like waves on an ocean, piles of gold surrounding him, jewels heaping near his feet. Bilbo was always kept near him, whether by or against his will, his every move watched by Thorin. Time passed in a haze. The other dwarves trooped in and out of the hall, lending sympathetic glances and a comforting brush of the hand to the hobbit, who was beginning to show signs of wear. He flinched when any of them lifted a hand, and his eyes flicked nervously from side to side. They all felt deep pity for him, and did all they could to comfort him, for while they could escape from Thorin's dark glances and harsh words, Bilbo could not.  
Late one evening, the last of the dwarves bowed his way out the door, Bilbo standing cautiously to the side, quiet and respectful, Thorin lounging on his throne, shoulders hunched, fingers pressed together, eyes shining darkly from underneath shadowed brows. Silence pressed down on Bilbo, but Thorin seemed to know no passage of time.  
"Come here," Thorin said suddenly, and Bilbo came, meekly walking to the throne to stand in front of him. Thorin reached for him, pulling him into his lap, his fingers working at the buttons on his vest, and then his shirt.  
"Thorin, please, do you think this is quite the place and time?" Bilbo said as Thorin pulled him in, rubbing his face across his chest, sliding a hand in the inside of his shirt and around his bare back.  
"It is always a good time," Thorin growled, biting up to his neck, "Mmmm...always."  
Bilbo gasped and stiffened with pleasure. "Aren't we—aren't we going up to bed?"  
"Not tonight...not there, not close to them," Thorin hissed, biting his throat, grasping at him, hands sliding around him, Bilbo arching back, breathing hard, "tonight...mmm...tonight we go to the treasure hall."  
"The treasure hall? But why? You can't expect us to sleep there."  
"Yes, I do. Now come. We can—we can continue this later." Thorin rose, sliding Bilbo off of him, then strode down the path to the throne and down the hallways, down the stairs, down to the treasure hall, the gold stretching away from them, casting eerie shadows on the walls, the torchlight reflecting off every coin, like so many little eyes watching them, Bilbo softly following Thorin, head bowed.  
The dwarf king walked down the stairs, the fold of his cloaks and robes sliding down after him, Bilbo padding behind him. Thorin did not stop when they reached the bottom, but turned left, hardly stumbling as the stone beneath his boots became slick with coins. Bilbo hesitated, then followed, Thorin halting under the staircase, pillars holding up the roof of stone above them, coins and jewels under their feet. Bilbo looked around nervously.  
"Take off your clothes," Thorin ordered suddenly, flinging his cloaks and robes to the ground.  
"Wh-what?"  
"Take off your clothes," Thorin growled, stripping to the waist.  
Bilbo paused, frightened. "Can I at least keep my pants on? It's freezing."  
"Fine," Thorin conceded, watching him hungrily as he submissively slid off his coat, vest and shirt, unbuckling his sword belt and laying it aside.  
"Much better," Thorin sighed approvingly as Bilbo turned to face him, hugging his bare chest, shivering in the cold. Without warning, Thorin crossed in a few swift strides to Bilbo and seized his shoulders, throwing him backwards, slamming him against a pillar so the breath was knocked out of him. Thorin pushed into him, biting up and down his neck and shoulders. He seized one of his legs and pulled it up around his waist, crushing him against the stone. Bilbo was powerless—he could only gasp for breath, involuntarily bending to him, his arms closing around his back.  
Suddenly Thorin kissed his mouth, violently, and his arms encircled his waist, grabbing tightly. He pulled him back from the pillar and shoved him to the ground, immediately on top of him, crushing him with his weight, moaning with pleasure as Bilbo moved beneath him, overcome with horror and desire and terror all at once. What could he do—maybe giving in would help—  
Arching into Thorin, pressing back into his kiss, Bilbo tried to respond to him, to calm his movements, but it only encouraged him. Thorin held him tightly, kissing him as they rolled over and over, a tangle of legs and arms, winding around Bilbo, who panted for breath and folded around his movements as best he could.  
Twisting around him, Thorin threw Bilbo to the ground, the hobbit's bare stomach pressed to the cold floor, Thorin atop him, pushing him into the stone, crushing him with his weight—  
"Ye-aaahh," Bilbo gasped, his fingers clutching at the floor as Thorin passionately kissed his back, arching with desire as the kisses turned to bites, Thorin's thighs gripping his hips. But this was not what he liked—no, this violence scared him. He wanted to stop, oh, he just wanted it to stop—  
"Stop, stop," he moaned, Thorin's hand caressing his throat, the other on his stomach, "Thorin—Ah—stop—"  
"No," Thorin hissed, turning him onto his back and staring into his eyes, "you are mine. All mine."  
He leaned down and kissed him before he could respond, wrapping around him once again, rolling across the floor, Bilbo clutched in between his legs.  
"No—Thorin—stop!" Bilbo finally shouted, pushing against him, "that's enough!"  
"It's never enough," Thorin moaned, "I love you—I love you."  
"No—you're not listening! Stop!" Bilbo shouted, finally pulling away from him, pressing himself into the back of the staircase, shaking, knees drawn to his chest, eyes wide with fright.  
"What is it?" Thorin asked, advancing towards him, still breathing hard, but Bilbo scrambled away from him as he drew close. Thorin stopped. "What is it, Bilbo?"  
"You—you," he answered, whispering, "you. That's too much for me. I'm not a thing you can tumble when you like. I already have bruises from last night—tonight is going to be worse. You're hurting me." He drew in a shaking breath, hugging his knees. "Please, Thorin, stop."  
Thorin paused, still on his hands and knees, staring questioningly at him. "Yes, if you say so," he answered finally, his brows creasing. Was that the real Thorin? Bilbo leaned towards him, love and pity flickering in his heart, and slid a gentle hand along his cheek.  
"You can love me, and that's fine, but no more of that, please," he pleaded softly, his brown eyes fearful.  
Thorin seemed to soften. "I do love you. Please, come here." Cautiously, Bilbo slid up next to him, but he flinched and ducked his head in submission as Thorin lifted his hand. Thorin's heart trembled—what was he doing to him to make him bend at the sight of his raised hand? Slowly, he brought it down to softly rest on his shoulder, gently pulling him in. And Bilbo leaned into him, still scared, but desperately wanting that warm, comforting presence of the one he loved. Thorin curved softly around him, stroking his back, and slowly, they seemed to fall back into the lilt of old times, when it was just them among the mountains or forest or blankets, and Bilbo fell into asleep, once again grasping to that hope that the old Thorin might still be buried somewhere in there. He did not feel, however, the possessive bites down his neck after he fell asleep, Thorin's arms tightly around him.

Bilbo awoke before Thorin. He had no way of knowing what time it was, his surroundings exactly as they were when he dropped off.  
Thorin's arms were still around him, his bare chest rising and falling evenly, his face peaceful in slumber. Bilbo wished he would look like that again, no creases in his brows, his lips relaxed, eyes shut gently. He sighed and leaned into him again, enjoying the comfort of his arms, closing his eyes in hope of falling back asleep, but sleep did not come. Sighing again, he quietly unwound himself from Thorin, softly brushing his hair behind his ear and kissing his forehead before walking to where his clothes lay in a heap. He dressed silently, strapping on his sword, then turned to go, casting a last, loving glance back at the sleeping Thorin before running up the stairs. Who knew how much time he would have to himself.  
The sun was up, and so were the other dwarves, and they welcomed Bilbo with cheery smiles and pats on the back, moving about their duties. Bilbo was glad to see them looking up, but he quickly found who he was looking for.  
"Balin," he said loudly, stopping the older dwarf, "do you have anything to help with bruises?"  
"Ah, Master Baggins! Wonderful to see you out. Is Thorin..." Balin trailed off, glancing around worriedly.  
"No, Thorin is still asleep downstairs. I was wondering—"  
"Downstairs?" Balin said, confused.  
"He—we slept in the treasure hall last night," Bilbo admitted, "I don't know what I'm going to do if this goes on."  
"Well, I know I can help you with whatever you need," Balin said warmly, catching his arm and leading him down the hall, "you said you needed something for bruises?"  
"Yes."  
"Well, I think there is some salve that we picked up along the way in here," Balin said, turning into a room filled with shelves, bottles, papers and books—their record room.  
"Thank you," Bilbo said gratefully, "you—you wouldn't mind helping me put it on, would you?"  
"Not at all," Balin said, smiling at him and removing a small flat container from a shelf. Bilbo nodded, sliding off his coat and unbuttoning his vest and shirt.  
"It's bad, I know," he said as Balin gasped at the sight of his slight torso, covered with bruises—larger ones across his back from where Thorin slammed him into the stone, smaller where his touches had hurt, purple where some of his bites had become too violent.  
"Does he—does he hit you?" Balin asked warily as he painted the ointment on Bilbo's skin.  
"No, at least, not yet. He just gets rough at night, but I think I got through to him last night to stop that."  
"You really shouldn't let him do this to you, laddie. He'll end up seriously hurting you some day."  
"I've tried to talk to him," Bilbo sighed, wincing slightly as the paste was painted across his back, "I've tried to push him away, tried to not give in, but nothing I do seems to help. I hope I've made a difference with last night. He just—just doesn't listen to anyone anymore, and—"  
"There you are!" came an angry shout from the doorway. Bilbo immediately jumped and started to tremble, for it was Thorin. "I looked everywhere for you," he growled, striding towards Bilbo and glancing darkly at Balin, "I had no idea you would be here."  
"Please, Thorin, there was no harm done, I was just—" Bilbo started, pleadingly, but Thorin cut him off, Balin standing, shocked.  
"You must stay with me! And put your shirt on. Your body is for my eyes only," he hissed in Bilbo's ear, his eyes flashing dangerously.  
"O-of course, Thorin," Bilbo mumbled, quickly slipping his clothes back on and casting an apologetic glance at Balin, who nodded sympathetically back.  
"And I hope all your tasks are done?" Thorin growled to Balin, who nodded respectfully.  
"Everything is finished. We are all doing the jobs you set for us," he said plainly.  
"Good," Thorin snapped, seizing Bilbo by the waist and leading him out the door. "I expect to have your report in the throne room," he called over his shoulder, striding down the hallway, Bilbo held firmly in his grasp.


	9. One Last Chance

One last time, he decided to talk to Thorin before enacting it. Striking up his courage and steeling his nerves, he passed down the empty halls, abandoning the few moments of solitude he had gained, walking deeper and deeper into the mountain to where the treasure lay.

Pausing in the doorway, the gold stretched across the floor, deeper than a man was tall, as far as the eye could see, and in the middle of it, dressed in a rich robe with a gold crown upon his head, slowly pacing, was Thorin. At first he did not notice as the hobbit crossed towards him, but suddenly, he whirled around and ran towards him.

"Where have you been?" he asked commandingly, "I sent everyone out to look for you!"

"I was—I was just—" Bilbo stammered, but Thorin ignored him, pulling him in and sliding a firm hand around his waist, gripping him tightly.

"Never mind, you are here now," Thorin said, leading him controllingly away from the door. "You cannot wander off. There are enemies lurking around every corner."

Bilbo's heart twisted as it always did now when he saw Thorin's face, clouded and searching, brows furrowed. How he wished for it to brighten again, for the mouth to turn upwards in a smile, but he pushed his feelings aside and cautiously proceeded.

"There are no enemies here, only friends," he corrected, but Thorin did not hear him.

"The Lake-men, the Elves," Thorin grumbled, "they want the gold."

Bilbo took a deep breath. "Thorin, we bargained with the men of Lake-town; we owe them something. Now, the Elf-King I can understand, but there are only fourteen of us and hundreds of them. Would you let your company die over a few gems?" he paused, Thorin saying nothing. "Please, Thorin," he pleaded, clutching at his arm, "give them their share."

"No!" Thorin said forcefully, causing Bilbo to jump back, "I will not give up a single coin!" He rounded on him, the hobbit shrinking back. "This treasure is mine—it belonged to my father and his father before that. It is my birthright—and I will defend it from anyone who dares take it from me!"

"Defend it with what?" Bilbo said desperately, "We fight for you, not for your gold. I love you, not the jewels." His frustration finally bubbled forth. "Something is happening inside you, and it's not right. You are obsessed with this treasure—this gold—it's not right!"

"I must defend my own! I must protect it!" Thorin shouted, his face creased with rage.

"And that's something else! You are not protecting, you are obsessing! Every night in your sleep you talk about gold and will not leave this room. And me! You also have changed towards me. You are obsessive—possessive—about me! I cannot find a minute to myself and you are always calling for me to stay near you!"

"Because I love you," Thorin said forcefully, crossing towards him and seizing his hands.

"But you don't," Bilbo said, his voice breaking, "you don't love me anymore. You just want me. I'm no longer a person to you, Thorin, I'm just a thing; another coin, another jewel, for you to possess."

"No," Thorin growled, "you are more than that." He kissed him, but it was aggressive, angry, lustful. Bilbo pulled away.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," he said, his voice trembling. "You don't love me anymore."

Thorin stood, unmoving, for a moment. Then something flashed behind his eyes and his gaze hardened as he looked upon the small hobbit shaking before him, pain etched into every line in his face.

"You are right," Thorin said finally, advancing forward, "I do not love you anymore. You have betrayed me. This is what is important to me now," he growled, sweeping his arms out across the mountains of gold, "This is what I love—this is where my heart will lie! Now get out of my sight!" he roared, Bilbo stumbling back from his angry strides, eyes wide with terror.

Something seemed to crash within him. He gasped for breath, then whirled around and stumbled out of the hall. The emotions he had held back now flooded forth, and it was all he could do to stagger down the hallway and rush down the corridors, half blinded by tears, not stopping until he reached the outside air, the cold wind biting at his wet cheeks as he sagged against the stone wall and down to the floor, arms over his face, weeping. He did not know how long he sat there, but as his sobs turned to hiccups and he stared out across the winter landscape with bleary eyes, Balin stepped out the door.

"Ah, there you are, laddie," he said warmly, but stopped at the sight of the small hobbit's face. "What is it?"

Bilbo tried to smile, wiping his nose and standing quickly. "Oh, it's nothing," he said, his voice hoarse. He turned away, but Balin stepped up next to him.

"Ah, it's more than nothing if it makes you like that," the older dwarf said kindly. "Now, what's wrong?"

"It's Thorin," Bilbo said, wiping his eyes, "I don't know what's happened to him. He does not care about anything or anyone anymore—not even me."

Balin nodded knowingly. "These days have become rather trying for you, laddie, I can tell."

Bilbo nodded, no words left. Another tear ran down his cheek, but he wiped it away, sniffed and shook himself. "Well, I guess all we can do is stand by him, even if he doesn't stand behind us."

It hurt Balin to see the hobbit suffering so, eyes full of repressed pain, but the sight of Bilbo standing there in his tattered clothes, grimly awaiting the future, struck hope into himself as well. "We'll get through it, laddie, don't let Thorin get you down. He still loves you—the real way—I am sure of that."

Bilbo nodded again resignedly. "Thank you," he said steadily, then turned back into the halls of stone, Balin following behind him. He knew what he needed to do.


	10. Thorin’s Passing

The world swam before Bilbo's eyes as he slowly came to, the events leading to his unconsciousness still blurry. He had rushed here to warn them about the attack...and he had, then—something else must've happened. Wincing slightly, he sat up, pressing a hand to his head, then realized he was still wearing the ring. Pulling it off, the pain suddenly lessened, the world around him growing clearer. Screams echoed through the air—screams? But there was no one in sight! Suddenly, a shadow swept over him, and he breathed an excited sigh.

"The eagles," he said happily to himself as the great birds soared overhead, "the eagles are here." Lightheaded with relief, he stood quickly, scanning his surroundings. The desolate terrain was deserted, flat and cold, except for something lying in the middle of the ice. Bilbo's stomach twisted as he started towards it—was it someone he knew? But it was Azog, dead, battered and bloody. Who had killed him? Bilbo thought, looking around, and spotted another figure, lying prone upon the ground, the color draining from Bilbo's face as he realized who it was.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered breathlessly. Without pausing, all his doubts and uncertainties washed away, he raced across the ice, skidding slightly in his haste, worry thrumming through his chest.

Bilbo quickly fell to his knees beside the fallen king, frantic, clutching at his hand, leaning close. "Oh, Thorin, what happened? I—" 

"Bilbo," Thorin said hoarsely, a pained smile appearing on his bloodstained face, but then a sort of desperation took its place. "Wait—wait." Bilbo's voice caught in his throat, his heart racing faster. He searched Thorin for wounds—oh, there was so much blood! But there was no mistaking the hole in his chest, Thorin's shirt soaked crimson, the chain mail ripped apart in jagged edges, the white of shattered bone barely peeking through. He almost gagged, but instead pressed a momentary hand to his mouth, trying to keep himself together, but then his hands went to Thorin's chest, pulling the layers of fabric from his wound to press them back down to stop the bleeding—he had to be fine, he just had to be all right—

"I take back all that I said at the gate, and everything before that. You were right," he added, smiling slightly as Bilbo opened his mouth, squeezing his hand in his own, "I was not myself. I never should have treated or thought of you the way I did. Please forgive me," he said quietly, his eyes full of pain, his face tight with desperation and regret. "Forgive me." And there, shining out, was the real Thorin, the true Thorin, the one that had held him all those long hours, the one that had kissed him at Beorn's house, the one with whom he had slept with through Mirkwood, the one who confessed his love at Erebor. A great happiness filled Bilbo to see this Thorin at last, but he shoved it away—for Thorin was dying—

"No, no, there is nothing to forgive," Bilbo said suddenly, leaning closer and pressing his hands to Thorin's wound, trying to stem the bloodflow, "hold on—"

"But there is!" Thorin protested, rising up partway, his teeth clenched in pain, breaths labored, Bilbo trying to push him back down, "I was blinded by my greed. You are not a coin, or a jewel. But you shine brighter than one," he finished, wincing greatly, his breath coming in short gasps through his clenched teeth, "Your heart is worth more than all the gold in Erebor."

"Oh, Thorin," Bilbo choked, sliding closer as Thorin fell backwards, groaning, and positioned Thorin's head to lie in his lap, smoothing his hair back, clinging to his hand, running his thumb over Thorin's knuckles, staring into his eyes, tears prickling his own.

"I'm sorry," Thorin murmured, his eyes closing. "I am sorry I have put you in such peril."

Bilbo paused, chest heaving, startled, then a tear slipped down his cheek as he shook his head. "This has been the greatest adventure of my life," he said, his voice trembling, "I have received more than any Baggins deserves."

"Bilbo?" Thorin asked, his eyes opening again, but his chest rising and falling more slowly now.

"Yes?" Bilbo whispered in return, leaning in close, pressing Thorin's hand to his face, clinging to every word, eyes wide.

"Would you have stayed? For me?"

Bilbo paused, but he could not lie, not at this time. "I...I don't think so. I love the Shire too much—I could not be confined in those dark mountain halls. You would have been my only light."

"Good," Thorin breathed, Bilbo feeling the muscles of his back relax against his knees, "good. When this is all over, when I am gone, go home. For as you have told me, you are your own person, and I cannot keep you here."

"No!" Bilbo cried out as Thorin's eyes closed again, "Yes! You will live—you are going to live. You can't go. You mean so much to me, Thorin, I—I—"

"Go back to your books, your armchair, your gardens," Thorin whispered, "Plant your trees. Watch them grow." He smiled, his eyes soft. "If more of us valued home above gold, it would be a happier world."Bilbo was crying now, shuddering with tears, pressing his mouth to Thorin's hand. "When you look at your acorn, remember me. Please don't forget me. Live well, and live long."

"I could never forget you, Thorin, never," Bilbo said comfortingly, stroking his forehead, "You will always be with me—stay here, please, oh, stay—"

Thorin was quiet, his eyes full of pain, searching Bilbo's face. "I love you," he whispered, barely audible.

"I love you, too," Bilbo said, his voice breaking, kissing him hard, desperately, their lips moving together, tongues wrapping around each other, but Bilbo only cried harder, his tears streaming down his cheeks onto Thorin's, for the dwarf lord's mouth tasted of blood. "I love you—stay awake—no—stay AWAKE—" they kissed again, Thorin fondling Bilbo's cheek like he did, his fingers sliding across his neck.

"Farewell," Thorin whispered.

"Not farewell—no—stay awake!" Bilbo repeated, almost hysterical. His lips found Thorin's and it was wonderful again, to be kissed like this, to be so wholly and completely and entirely loved—

But now Thorin's mouth was slack, his chest still, his eyes closed. "No, no, no, no, NO—" Bilbo gasped, his hands on Thorin' shoulders, his shirt, his face, his waist. "No, Thorin—THORIN—" He kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his neck, his chest, mouth again, pulling him up to his chest, burying his face in his shoulder, kissing his mouth again, and again and again—

But there was no reaction. "NO, NO!" Bilbo screamed, his voice turning into a wail, high and grief-stricken, desperate and heart-wrenching, tearing at his throat, pouring outward his grief. It echoed against the rocks and bounced off the ice, resounding through the air long after it had ended, fading into tearing sobs as the hobbit broke down. Gandalf hurried up the path, staff and sword upraised, but all he saw was small Bilbo, his face buried in Thorin's shoulder as he clung to him, tears streaming down his cheeks, his body wracked with sobs, his weeping echoing through the quiet afternoon. He did not move as Gandalf approached, his hands twisted into Thorin's ripped and bloody tunic, his clothes stained with Thorin's blood, crying into his chest.

Gandalf stood next to him, his shadow falling across the small hobbit, sorrow etched into his face. He reached out slowly, placing a soft hand on his shoulder, but Bilbo jerked away, burying his face deeper into Thorin's clothing and sobbing harder.

"Bilbo," Gandalf said quietly, but there was no response. Hesitating for a moment, he softly turned and walked away, quickly intercepting the rest of the company that followed behind him.

"Thorin Oakenshield is dead," Gandalf said softly. Gasps and "no"s escaped from the dwarves, tears prickling many eyes. No one spoke, Bilbo's sobs the only sound. Then some ran forwards to kneel beside them, some pausing in shock, some wandering forwards before turning away. Some broke down, some stayed silent, staring blankly ahead; some buried their face in their hands.

Bilbo didn't seem to notice them. He wept, indifferent to the company, ignorant of the others placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, unseeing when, much later, the colors of sunset streaking the sky, Gandalf stepped over again.

Bilbo's sobs had finally ceased, but his face was still stiff with tears, his eyes red, his clothes stained with Thorin's blood, caressing Thorin's hand though it had long turned cold and stiff in his own. Snowflakes dusted their hair, sparkling in Thorin's eyelashes, not melting upon his cheeks. 

Gandalf stepped softly in, walking to stand behind the hobbit, placing a comforting hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

"We will take him," he said gently, "you must get some sleep."

"I could never sleep tonight," Bilbo said hoarsely, unmoving.

Gandalf nodded sadly. "I know—but you must let him go. We do not want him to rest on the side of the mountain forever."

Bilbo did not move for a moment, then slowly, carefully, he unwound his fingers from Thorin's, gently arranging the dwarf lord's hands on his chest, smoothing back his clothing and brushing back the few strands of hair that had crept over his face. Tenderly, Bilbo bent down and kissed his forehead, simply and lovingly, then slid back, eyes blank as the others lifted Thorin up to carry him down to the gates of Erebor, Bilbo's gaze never leaving his face. Slowly, the others trickled away, exchanging quiet words with Gandalf, and lending pitying glances to the small hobbit.

"Why?" Bilbo whispered, hardly audible, the sky growing dark around the two. "Why, Gandalf?" He turned towards the wizard, the broken-hearted question written in his eyes.

Gandalf was silent, pensive, then spoke quietly. "I do not know, Bilbo, and I do not think there is anyone in Middle Earth who does. The loss of Thorin Oakenshield is a great one—none of us in this company will ever forget him. You are not alone in your grief."

"But I feel so empty, now," Bilbo said helplessly, glancing back at Thorin's still face, "I don't think I have ever been so alone."

"I will be with you," Gandalf said comfortingly, "now come. Let us go. There is much to be done."

Bilbo rose slowly, stiff from the long hours of sitting. Turning numbly towards the wizard, he leaned against him, Gandalf's arm supportingly around his shoulders, and together, they made their way down the darkening mountain path.


	11. Going Home

Slowly, the days passed. Bilbo helped wherever he could—bandaging wounds, carrying food, giving advice, following Gandalf, cleaning out the ruined buildings of Dale and accompanying the dwarves on their various tasks. The work kept his mind off of his grief, and it was nice to be active, to lay down exhausted at the end of the day, too tired for dreams, but little by little, Bilbo found his mind wandering more and more back to Thorin, and with a sickening twist in his stomach he remembered the touch of his hand or the color of his eyes and the fact that he would never see him again, and he would quickly turn and find something else to do, firmly pushing Thorin from his thoughts.

One day, when Bilbo stood idly to the side in the dark mountain halls of Erebor, watching the dwarves bustling about their work, Balin approached him.

"Master Baggins," he said kindly, bowing slightly.

"Balin," Bilbo acknowledged, smiling rather tiredly, "what can I do for you?"

The older dwarf sobered slightly. "I know that this may be hard on you, laddie, but Thorin's things are still in his room, and we know how much you loved him." He paused, searching the hobbit's face for a reaction, but Bilbo was silent. "If you could gather them and set them aside, it would be a great help to all of us. You may take anything you like—and if you don't want to, I understand."

"No, no, it's fine," Bilbo said quickly, flashing a smile, "I'll do it."

Balin sighed in relief. "We thought you might want to, as a way to, you know, say goodbye one final time." Their thoughts wandered back to Thorin's funeral—many tears had been shed that day, many of the dwarves breaking down, Bilbo standing quietly and faithfully at Thorin's shoulder to the very last.

The hobbit shook himself. "Of course. I'll get right to it." He nodded, smiling, then started to turn away. "I willl let you know when I finish."

"Thank you, laddie," Balin called gratefully after him.

Bilbo wandered down the halls, his mind strangely quiet as he tread the familiar paths through the stone chambers, his steps carrying him to the doorway of Thorin's room, the stone doors firmly shut. Hesitating only for a moment, Bilbo pushed them open, the light falling in a bright column onto the floor of the darkened room.

Little things were scattered about, the map of the floor, a pair of boots, a tunic here, a few coins there. Thorin's packs lay mostly empty against the wall, and with a twinge of his heart, he saw his own bags, carefully packed and placed against them. Even after he banished Bilbo from Erebor, Thorin had taken the care to pack his belongings. Bilbo smiled lovingly and turned towards the bed, the thick blankets falling unmade across the mattress and onto the floor in rich folds. Thinking he would strip the blankets for them to be washed, he stepped closer, reaching a hand out, when he froze suddenly.

Thorin's scent washed over him, so familiar and real, musty and sweet, bringing sharp memories back into focus. Bilbo shut his eyes and squeezed his hand into a fist, desperately fighting against the tide of memories, but his own scent was here, too, mingled with Thorin's. Oh, those nights—those days—

He slowly sank down to the floor, pressing his face into the blankets and breathing deeply, his head swirling with thought—Thorin's eyes, his laugh, the softness of his touch—"would you have stayed?"—the firm press of his lips, the comforting warmth against his shoulder—"I love you"—his breathing slowed—

"Remembering much, love?" Thorin's gentle voice said from behind him. Bilbo turned, looking up at his figure, handsome and clean, above him.

"Too much," he breathed, his eyes searching the dwarf lord disbelievingly. "You are dead," he whispered finally."

"Yes," Thorin said quietly, his face twisted in sadness, "I am. I—" he buried his face in his hands, Bilbo still frozen on the ground, hardly breathing. Slowly, he knelt to the floor, his rich robe spreading around him, his black hair falling across his shoulder. "I—"

"Oh, Thorin!" Bilbo finally gasped, and lunged forwards, burying his face in Thorin's neck, clinging to his coat desperately, shaking as Thorin embraced him tightly. "Thorin—this is too hard for me. I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," Thorin said comfortingly, but his voice was flecked with uncertainty. "You can. You have to let me go."

"But you said never to forget!" Bilbo said, sitting up in Thorin's lap, "you said never to forget you!"

"Let me go," Thorin said, his eyes filling with sadness, "Do not forget me—just let me go. It will be better for the both of us."

"What would be better about that?" Bilbo said, his voice rising, fingers tightening in the fur lining Thorin's coat, "You make me better! I can't be better without you!"

Thorin's dark eyes softened and searched Bilbo's face, his brows turning upwards in pain. "I love you so much," he breathed, "but please. I will not see you again in this life—live happily and move on in this one. Go home. I must leave you."

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, but he hesitated, losing himself in Thorin's intense gaze, and they tilted forwards, lips meeting softly, gently, breathing through the kiss.

"Oh, I love you so much," Thorin murmured against his mouth, his voice twisted with pain. He relaxed into the kiss for another moment, then pulled back, beginning to stand. "I'm sorry."

"I need you!" Bilbo said pleadingly, grasping at him, "please!"

"I'm sorry," Thorin repeated, bending down to press his forehead against Bilbo's, his hands cradling the hobbit's head.

"Thorin!" Bilbo gasped, staring at him with wide eyes, tears beginning to leak out, "please!"

"I'm sorry," Thorin said again, his touch fading, his voice breaking, "I'm so sorry."

"Thorin!" Bilbo repeated, tears streaming down his cheeks, but the dwarf lord was gone, his voice just a sigh, his touch just a memory.   


Bilbo jolted awake, breathing hard. For a moment, he sat there, leaning against the bed, anchoring himself in his surroundings, and then his dream came flooding back to him. 

Thorin was here! He had stood next to him, and kissed him, held him again, and left, and now he was gone...gone, gone for good, gone forever. Bilbo started shaking uncontrollably, his eyes wide, curling up against the bed as he wrapped his hands in the sheets, shuddering with breaths, holding back tears. A tall shadow fell across him as someone stood in the doorway, footsteps quiet as they approached. 

“I can’t do it, Gandalf,” Bilbo whispered, his voice barely audible, “I can’t do it.” 

“Dear Bilbo,” Gandalf murmured softly, then leaned his staff against the bed and sat down on the floor beside the trembling hobbit, reaching gently over to pull him against himself, Bilbo pressing shakily into his side, curled tightly with his knees to his chest. 

“I can’t go on without him,” Bilbo whispered. “He was everything to me. Only now do I realize that.” He buried his face into Gandalf’s robes, quivering with suppressed emotion. “After he’s dead. After he’s gone.” 

Gandalf was quiet for a moment, a gentle arm around Bilbo’s back. “Thorin loved you, Bilbo, he—“

“He told me to move on, in a dream just now,” came Bilbo’s muffled voice, “to let him go.” Finally breaking, his voice cracked, the shaking turning to rough sobs. “I can’t go on without him, Gandalf, I just can’t—” 

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said suddenly, sitting upright and gently pulling Bilbo to face him. He stared keenly into Bilbo’s watery eyes, tears tracing paths down the hobbit’s cheeks as he cried, grasping his shoulders and bending to look him in the eyes. 

“Bilbo, Thorin loved you. He loved you, and do not ever think otherwise. But to think that you cannot go on without him gives you too little credit. You have been strong on your own before this, and I have no doubt that that was the hobbit that Thorin fell in love with. If anything, do not stay strong to forget Thorin, stay strong to remember him.” 

At that, Bilbo cried harder, the first real emotion he had let show since Thorin’s death, releasing the minutes and hours and days of pent-up emotion, tears gushing forth as he rocked forwards into the wizard, Gandalf still speaking quietly to him. 

“He fought valiantly in battle to save you from death, and he wanted you to live your life as happily and fully as you could. He will be alongside you every step of the way, and you do not have to let him go. In truth, I should think that it is impossible to completely let him go; he is here now, and though Thorin Oakenshield is dead, he lives on in our memories...and in your heart,” he finished quietly, Bilbo shuddering with sobs in his arms. 

Gandalf waited patiently for Bilbo’s weeping to cease, the sounds of his grief echoing soberly around the darkened room, the one column of light illuminating the pair of them as they knelt beside the bed. Gradually, Bilbo grew quieter, and finally sat upright, sniffing greatly and swiping a wet sleeve across his eyes. 

“Thank you, Gandalf, for being here,” Bilbo said through a shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair. He smiled ruefully. “I feel rather selfish becoming a mess like this. I’m sure it’s hard for you, as well.” 

“I have dealt with grief many times in my life,” Gandalf said, his eyes filling with sadness, “I have my own ways of coming to terms with the world. But I appreciate the thought, and it is never selfish to weep over a loved one. You have been busy lately, and you cannot run from your grief.” 

Bilbo returned the smile, but it was still tinged with sadness. He shook himself and stood up, sniffing again as he offered Gandalf an arm to help him off the floor. 

“I can finish from here,” he said, trying to force some sense of normalcy into his voice, “there’s not much left to do.” 

“Are you sure you will be all right?” Gandalf asked shrewdly, “I can stay here, if you need me to.”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, I will be fine. And, Gandalf,” he said suddenly as the wizard stepped towards the door, turning to look back at the small hobbit standing alone in the middle of the floor. “Thank you,” Bilbo said, his brows creasing with sincerity. 

“You are welcome,” Gandalf replied, smiling, then placed both hands on his staff and looked pensively back at him. “I think it is time we make plans to get you home.” 

Home. 

Bilbo nodded, his breathing easing. “I agree.” He smiled for real this time and turned back to the bed. “I will see you later.” 

Gandalf left silently, still worrying after the hobbit. Yes, the wizard had his own grief, but it was for Bilbo that his own heart ached. The hobbit had been through quite a lot, to say the least, and had gotten far more than he bargained for. It would take time for him, and for them all, to recover.

Soon, Thorin's things were tucked gently and neatly into his packs, the blankets folded by the door, the floor clean and the bed bare. Bilbo tucked the map into his own bag, then, pausing slightly, pulled one of Thorin's tunics from his pack. Lovingly, he fingered the thick woven material, the rich, dark blue reminding him of the night they had first touched hands. Suddenly, he buried his face into its rough folds, Thorin's scent filling his nose, the press of the fabric comforting. He rubbed it along his cheek, then let out a shuddering sigh, quickly shook it out, and refolded it, carefully placing it in his own belongings. Shouldering his pack, he took one last look around the room, breathing in the little of Thorin's scent that remained, then turned towards the door, every step having its own finality. His fingers lingered for a moment on the doorframe, but he quickly gathered his strength and padded back down the hallway, his footsteps echoing through the empty room as he stepped out of the corridor for the last time.

It was only a week later that Bilbo and Gandalf were ready to leave. They had packed their belongings the night before, bags heavy with gifts of gold, silver, gems and jewelry (although Bilbo refused much of what he was given), well-rested and well-fed. Truth be told, Bilbo was quite ready to return home. He had been away far too long, and there was still not a day that went by without him thinking of his expansive pantries, or his books, or his warm bed, or his lovely gardens. Yes, it was time to go home. Gandalf already waited for him outside the gate.

The remaining members of the company stood by him, ready to send him off. Bilbo walked up to them, doing his best to smile.

"Well, I guess this is it, then?" he said, grinning good-naturedly, but his voice was tinged with sadness.

"Yes, it is," Dwalin said finally, stepping forwards and giving him a firm handshake and a clap on the shoulder. "Farewell, Master Baggins."

Bilbo nodded, not quite knowing what to say, receiving a handshake, a clap on the back, or a hug from all the rest—Dori, Ori, Nori, Balin, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, and lastly, Bombur.

"I don't know how to thank you all," Bilbo said finally, his back to the road, a hand on the strap of his pack, "this has been the greatest adventure of my life and I would do it all again in a heartbeat."

"We could not have done it without you," Ori piped up, grinning.

"We could not have done it without our burglar," Dori said, winking at him. Bilbo laughed.

"And you are welcome here anytime, remember that," Bofur said, giving him a skeptical look, "so in case you are passing through..."

"Oh, don't worry, I would never pass you all by," Bilbo laughed, then grew more serious. "And you are all welcome at Bag End anytime. Tea time is at four." His mouth turned upwards in a sincere smile. "Don't bother knocking."

Smiles crossed the dwarves' faces, and Bilbo took in this last image of them all standing together, smiling, happy, wishing heartily to impress this picture into his thoughts. "Well, goodbye, then," he said, clearing his throat and turning away to face the road and the rising sun.

"Farewell, Master Baggins," Balin called after him, and he glanced back one final time, the mountain rising up behind the company, all that they had fought so hard for, and won, and which beneath rested Fili, and Kili...and Thorin. He smiled again, raising a hand in farewell, then turned once again forwards.

A song escaped his lips, the light of dawn bright in the sky, Gandalf waiting up ahead. The simple tune hung in the morning air, the sun bright and clear, the words floating through the still misty air.

Roads go ever on,

Over rock and under tree,

By caves where never sun has shone,

By streams that never find the sea;

Over snow by winter sown,

And through the merry flowers of June,

Over grass and over stone,

And under mountains in the moon.

Roads go ever on

Under cloud and under star,

Yet feet that wandering have gone

Turn at last to home afar.

Eyes that fire and sword have seen

And horror in the halls of stone

Look at last on meadows green

And trees and hills they long have known.

And Bilbo Baggins, Master Burglar, turned his back to the Lonely Mountain and his face towards the Shire, Thorin Oakenshield's tunic wrapped and lovingly tucked in his pack, his love tucked more deeply in his heart. Longing for the Shire filled him—finally, he was leaving for home. And Thorin would go with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again, all! 
> 
> Sorry to leave you on such a sad ending! I was depressed for weeks after writing this. I do not take credit for Bilbo's end song—that is Tolkien's own writing, appearing at the end of the Hobbit when Bilbo arrives home, but I felt it was fitting to include it here. I loved writing this story, more than I loved writing any other project of mine. 
> 
> There is a Part 2! It's called The Home—I highly recommend it (of course I do—because I wrote it ;) ). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know if you did—your comments always make my day! 
> 
> Good luck on all your travels, mellon nin—
> 
> A. W.


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